The Art Of Loving
by Mage of the Heart
Summary: Sequel to The Art Of Living. When a gruesome parcel is delivered to CID, Gene and Alex are forced into an investigation that threatens to disrupt their new-found happiness. Whilst Alex struggles to remain strong, Gene takes it upon himself to protect her, whatever the cost. Rated M for Smut/Themes.
1. The Package

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes**

**So, I decided, after a little bit of hesitance, to start the sequel to **_**The Art of Living**_** – I don't know how fast it will move, as I'm trying to focus on **_**Enduring Hope**_** at the moment, but I felt the need for some smutty intervention, even though the plot sort of begins at the very end. Hope you'll enjoy it – could be sensitive at some points, as before, but I hope it'll be worth it!**

**It picks up almost exactly where it left off... about two months down the line :-)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Alex, where the bloody hell is my tie?"

Gene Hunt's gravelly voice drifted up the stairs, followed by excitable yapping and scrabbling of claws on wood, as the large Alsatian scurried around beside him, woofing playfully at his heels.

"Wherever you left it!" Alex called back, dragging on a pair of knickers and glancing around for her hair brush, just as heavy footsteps could be heard pounding up the wooden staircase, across the landing, and through the open bedroom door.

"It ain't bloody here!" He snapped, storming in and jerking back the bedcovers swiftly. "I laid it out last night an' its bloody well disappeared!"

"It hasn't disappeared!" Alex replied in an exasperated voice, turning to him and rolling her eyes, the hairbrush in her hand now, waving for emphasis as she went on. "You probably forgot to put it out and it's still in the wardrobe or something! It really isn't that hard to find a tie!"

"Not that bloody hard?" Gene snapped, tossing the pillow he had been searching under back down and snapping his head up to look at her for the first time. "I blo-!" He stopped in his tracks, gaze tracking the length of her body, his eyes falling on the full bare breasts, the silk and lace of her dark blue knickers, the neatness of the gentle curls in her hair.... Mostly though, his eyes were drawn to the gentle bump of her stomach, the slight swell that said she was carrying his child... Argument forgotten, he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it onto the bed and walking over to her a moment later, surprising her by tugging the hairbrush from her hand, dropping it onto the floor and letting it clatter noisily as he pushed her gently against the wall, his mouth suddenly on her neck, hand stroking the curve of her stomach tenderly.

"Gene," Alex murmured warningly, her hands on his shoulders. "Gene, we're almost late as it is, you can't-!"

"Screw it," he mumbled, hand drifting lower and teasing into her knickers, fingers stroking her gently as his mouth kissed and sucked at the tender flesh of her neck. "They were late fer ours..."

"But-!"

"No buts," he growled, slipping two long fingers into her heat and grinning as she let out a whimper, her knees buckling beneath her. "I want you," he mumbled, nipping at her collarbone. "Gunna have you, too..."

His thumb rubbed her clit, his fingers stroked her insides, and a moment later Alex had caved, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to bed.

* * *

"I told you we'd be late," Alex muttered softly under her breath, tapping her fingers impatiently against the car door as they sat in the seemingly endless queue of traffic.

"You didn't mind too much if I recall correctly," Gene murmured in reply, letting his gaze travel to her dress-covered crotch as his tongue wet his lips. He caught her blush, saw the way she bit her lip, and a moment later he'd slipped his left hand to her lap, stroking up her thigh and under her skirt with gloved fingers. "You were beggin', actually, if I recall correctly..."

"I'm pregnant," she mumbled softly, not bothering to protest his attentions, and closing her eyes as he applied pressure to her clit with two skilled fingers. "I'm not thinking straight..."

"Don't blame you," Gene grinned. "It's hard to think straight when you're getting shagged halfway to death by someone as well-hung as yours truly." He casually flicked his cigarette butt out of the open window, the other hand still teasing and stroking her gently through the fabric of her knickers. Glancing over at her, he smirked, seeing the slackness of her jaw, hearing the hitch of her breathing, the slight gasp as he caught her clit... He glanced at the road, briefly assessing the traffic, and then looked back at her as she pushed her hips eagerly into his hands.

"How late are we?" He asked, swallowing and wetting his mouth as he watched her.

Alex glanced blearily at the watch on Gene's wrist, letting out a soft whimper as he pressed slightly harder, grazing her clitoris once more and making her shiver as she spoke, voice heavy with arousal. "Fifteen minutes," she managed, whimpering slightly; a moment later, he'd changed gear, swerved into the other lane, and slammed his foot to the pedal as he took off down a side street, ignoring the loud honking of numerous car horns as he swerved in front of oncoming traffic. Alex's whimper of frustration at the sudden loss of contact only served to spur him on, and less than five minutes later they were parked up roughly in a seemingly empty street.

He was on her a second later, one hand squeezing at her breast, the other burying itself in her centre, knickers pushed aside as his mouth assaulted her own.

"Church..." Alex mumbled half-heartedly, ever as she tangled her hand in his hair and pushed up into his hands. "Wedding..."

"Bugger the wedding," he growled, taking her lips with his and nibbling suggestively as his fingers pushed deep into her, feeling her tight and hot around him as he thrust them in and out. "You've had two yerself - you know what they look like." He hissed as he leant against the gearstick, and a moment later he'd unclipped her seatbelt, stepping awkwardly over the gearstick and between the seats into the back of the car, tugging her with him, and then promptly turning her so that she was sat on the backseat with her legs apart.

"I've got something much better to look at," he growled, pushing her down onto the leather seats and pushing his hips firmly into hers. "You'll like it," he promised, drawing one of her hands towards his crotch and placing it there suggestively as he pushed his tongue eagerly into her mouth. Alex moaned, rubbing him through his trousers, even as she whispered against his mouth.

"Gene, we should really be there..."

He shook his head, tugging off his gloves and discarding them as he sank his fingers back into her heat, biting at her lip and pushing his hips into her hands. "Un-Christian, Bolly," he murmured, lips on her neck. "Thou shalt shag whenever thou see fit... Can't go against His almighty word..."

"I don't think that's quite how it goes," Alex gasped, laughing slightly. "I think it's more like-!"

"Shut it Bols," he mumbled, twisting his fingers and feeling her inner muscles clench around him with arousal. "There's a traffic jam; technically, we'd be late anyway..." His breath was hot against her face as he went on. "Him upstairs obviously thinks I've been neglecting you..." He pushed his fingers even deeper, thumb scraping her clit as she frantically undid the fastening of his trousers, pushing one hand into his boxers and stroking him swiftly, gently twisting her wrist and applying just the right amount of pressure as he growled out his pleasure.

"Again," Gene mumbled softly. "Do that again, Bols, and don't bloody stop..." He fell on her then, mouth biting down on the flesh of her breast as he pushed the dress aside, fingers driving her towards her peak as she worked him expertly, teasing his balls, stroking his tip, trailing her nails up his length...

"Get your clothes off," she murmured harshly, pushing up at him as he worked her to the brink of orgasm, feeling herself tremble on the edge as she whimpered. "Hurry... I want you inside me..."

He groaned, pushing his trousers down with his spare hand and easing himself between her legs. "I will be," he growled, teasing her with his straining tip; she let out a soft whimper, but shook her head agitatedly.

"Shirt," she whispered breathily. "Take the shirt off..."

Gene hissed slightly, considering ignoring her and simply plunging deep; she wouldn't say no... but Christ, it was hot when she bossed him around... With a groan, he made quick work of his shirt and tie, tossing them over the front seat and instantly turning back to her; he swallowed hard when he saw that she'd somehow managed to wriggle out of the dress, leaving her only in her underwear, with huge, gorgeous breasts encased in dark blue lace to match the pants he'd already tugged off once that day.

Gene wet his lips, leaning over and dragging the knickers from her body for a second time, keeping them in his hand as her fingers slid over his chest and back, tongue teasing his nipples, nibbling lightly at the sensitive skin; he growled, and a moment later he was buried inside her, throwing her leg over his shoulder to give him more room to manoeuvre, ploughing into her with a groan of pleasure that sent shivers down her spine.

"You're filthy, Bols," he growled matter-of-factly, nipping at her ear. "Practically naked, in a car..." He bit at her neck as she wrapped her other leg around his back, urging him deeper as she tightened her hold. "Anyone might see..." He thrust faster, hissing as she reached down between them, rubbing herself into orgasm with her head thrown back, mouth open.

"You like that?" Gene growled, pushing harder, deeper, closing his eyes as she spilled over him, moaning beneath him as she brought her hand up to his mouth, pushing one wet digit between his lips.

"Yes," she whispered, stroking his lip with the tip of her finger. "Do you?" In answer, he took her finger deeper in his mouth, tongue flickering out to stroke up its length, growling deep in his throat as she urged her hips up to meet his thrusts.

"Harder," she murmured. "Harder, Gene... please..."

He complied, pushing her hand away from his mouth and grabbing her by the hips, dragging her over his length and grunting with pleasure; a few hard thrusts, a quick stroke of his balls, and a few moments later he was coming, biting down hard on her breast through the fabric of her bra and bringing her along with him, releasing hard and deep into her with a loud, wanton growl of pleasure, before collapsing onto her, his head on her shoulder as her hand tangled in his hair, body shaking beneath him as their ragged breathing sounded loudly in the confines of the car.

"Am I forgiven?" Gene asked a few moments later, his breathing still heavy and hot against her neck as he remained buried inside her, still quivering with the aftershocks.

He felt her nod, felt her shake slightly beneath him as she pressed a breathy kiss to his head. "If weddings always get you like this Gene, we should've been late for ours..."

He chuckled, nibbling at her collarbone as his hand slid over her stockings. "You bloody were," he muttered. "An' if I'd known you were gunna be late, I'd 'ave 'ad a calming wank in the bogs beforehand."

Alex smiled, kissing him gently and pushing him lightly on the shoulder. "Lovely, Gene," she murmured sarcastically. "Really, truly lovely... We should probably go now though..."

"Mmmm," Gene murmured, pulling back to meet her eyes with his; for a moment he said nothing, but then he leant forwards and caught her lips with his.

"I love you," he mumbled softly, nibbling gently on her lower lip for a moment; before she could reply, he'd tucked her knickers into her bra and pushed away, grabbed his shirt from the front seat and tugged it back on.

"Come on, Bols," he muttered, gently slapping her thigh with the flat of his palm; "I need a drink."

* * *

They arrived just in time to see Chris and Shaz walk back up the aisle hand-in-hand, Alex desperately trying to flatten her now ruffled hair into a look that was slightly more presentable, whilst Gene stood unashamedly with his own hair in disarray. Shaz grinned tellingly at Alex as she passed, waggling her eyebrows suggestively towards Gene's ruffled appearance; Chris, on the other hand, was apparently too baffled and ecstatic to notice anything except the woman on his arm, and passed by with a grin bigger than the Mersey stretched between his lips.

Gene stood with one arm around Alex's waist, hand resting gently on the small swell of her stomach, lips in her hair as the congregation filed out of the church.

"She looks gorgeous, doesn't she?" Alex smiled, watching as Shaz and Chris were drowned out in a crowd of well-wishers.

"You looked better," Gene mumbled softly, sliding his lips to her cheek and continuing to stroke her belly. She flushed visibly, and he grinned, moving to take her hand and draw her out of the church. "Sorry we missed it," he muttered half-heartedly, unable to keep the grin from his face.

"No you're not," she smiled back, returning the pressure on his hand with a small laugh.

Gene smirked, reaching for a cigarette and moving slightly away from her as he lit up, though her hand remained clasped in his spare as he did so. "You're right," he answered, exhaling in the opposite direction before he glanced back at her, still grinning. "I'd take shagging you over a wedding any day of the week."

Alex smiled, waving at a beaming Shaz as she spoke. "As would most people," she teased. She glanced back in time to see his eyebrows rise inquisitively, and she laughed, leaning forwards to briefly brush his cheek with her lips, before pulling away from the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke. "Come on," she grinned, tugging him towards the happy couple, "if we congratulate them now, you don't need to stay until the end."

"Right you are," Gene muttered, taking a drag on his cigarette, and then dropping it to the floor, stubbing it out with his toe. "Say well done, get pissed, shag yer brains out..." he eyed her lustily, then smirked. "Reckon I can handle that."

"I hope so," Alex replied, allowing him to pull her tighter against him as they got closer to Shaz and Chris. "I'd hate to think you were going to let me down after your earlier performances..."

"That a challenge, Bolly?" He growled in her ear, even as he reached for Chris's hand, shaking it with a firm nod as Alex smiled up at him, turning to whisper to him and standing up on her tiptoes.

"Only if you want it to be, Mr Hunt..."

His hand tightened on her waist, and he drew a breath in sharply, pulling her into his body with his hand on her arse, ignoring the baffled look on Chris' face as he did so. "Do I get a medal?" He growled suggestively.

"If you want a medal, Gene, you can have a medal," she murmured, lips brushing the pulse at his neck as she added, "but I'm sure you can think of something else to reward yourself with..." Her tongue traced beneath his jaw suggestively, and then she'd pulled away, embracing Shaz in a hug at the same moment that Gene bit back a wave of lust.

* * *

"I've thought of my something else," he murmured in her ear several hours later, dropping gentle, sloppy kisses on her shoulder as she leaned back into his touch. He was more than a little drunk, and his large hand slid suggestively up to her breasts, cupping one and squeezing through her dress with total disregard for everything but her.

"Mmm...?" Alex replied absently, watching Chris and Shaz sway happily on the dance floor. "What's that then?"

He shifted her in his lap, finding her hand with his and placing it surreptitiously at the top of his thigh, just brushing his crotch through the fabric of his trousers as he lifted his lips to her ear. "You," he mumbled, briefly taking her earlobe between his teeth. "Sucking," he growled. "On me..."

"Sounds lovely," Alex mumbled, closing her eyes as he slid his hand to her thigh. "As long as you hold up your end of the bargain..."

"It's holding up," he murmured, guiding her hand more firmly. "See? S'impressive..."

"Very," she agreed, smiling slightly. "But I'm not doing anything with it here."

Gene grunted something incoherent, and then shifted her off his lap, standing up and swaying slightly against her. Alex laughed, steadying him with two hands on his shoulders and rolling her eyes when he began kissing his way up her neck. "Gene, let's go home," she sighed, gently tugging on his hair. "You can kiss me there all you like..."

"Spoilsport," he mumbled, goosing her with one hand, but he straightened up swiftly, pulling her by the hand and stumbling only once when his foot caught on a chair leg. Alex waved at Chris and Shaz, offering continued congratulations, whilst Gene grunted in annoyance, clapped a drunken Ray on the shoulder, and then led her from the reception without another seconds delay.

* * *

"S'fine," he slurred, fingers fumbling with the zip at the side of her dress, a frown of utter concentration on his face. "S'fine... s'just stiff..."

"I bet it is," Alex laughed, stroking his hair as he pouted slightly, victoriously jerking the zip down after several moments of difficulty and grinning as he finally tugged the dress from her body, tossing it off the bed before his mouth fell to the curve of her breast sucking hard, pushing firmly into her as he ripped the knickers from her body, shirt and tie still hanging loose around his neck.

"Stiff enough?" he murmured, snapping off her bra and taking her breast deeper in his mouth.

"Lovely..." She moaned softly. "Mmmm... yes... definitely..."

"Good," he grunted, pulling out and flipping her onto her stomach, drawing her to hands and knees before plunging into her again, hands cupping her breasts as he thrust hard and deep. Alex whimpered, pushing back at him and urging him on. "Should've got you preggers sooner, Bols," he mumbled, nibbling at her neck as she threw her head back in pleasure. "You're hornier than a priest in a brothel these days..."

"Are you complaining?" Alex asked breathlessly, biting down hard on her lip as he went on.

"God no..." He groaned, feeling her clench around him and instantly biting on her shoulder, eyes closed as he pinched her breasts with one hand, stroking his length into her as his other hand dug into her hip, blunt nails leaving red marks that were sure to bruise... "The hornier the better... in my –shit!" He broke off as she clenched again, inner walls tightening around him and leaving him gasping. "Shit!" He groaned again, pushing deeper, wrapping an arm around her waist and groaning slightly. "Oh God," he grunted. "The hornier the better," he repeated, gasping. "Definitely..."

His hand slid instantly downward, searching for her swollen clit as he felt himself tighten, breathing heavy, thrusts erratic as he hurried her to her peak, releasing inside her in a hot stream as she threw her head back again, his name on her lips as she came violently around him.

Gene shuddered, gasping harshly as he lowered her to the bed, his arm across her hip, eyes closed and lips at her throat as he mumbled incoherently.

Alex quivered, limbs warm and heavy from her orgasm as Gene enveloped her in his arms, lips whispering up to her jaw.

"See," he mumbled in her ear. "I deserve a medal..."

"Give me half an hour," she murmured, "and I'll see what I can do..."

Gene shifted closer, pressing her back into his chest and speaking gruffly. "In the mornin'," he mumbled. "Too bloody knackered now..." He gently twisted her head towards his, catching her mouth and sucking gently on her lower lip. "Night Mrs Hunt," he whispered, dragging the duvet over them both, hand coming to rest on the gentle swell of their child in Alex's stomach.

"Goodnight Gene," Alex murmured, covering his hand with her own and allowing her eyes to flutter closed, a soft smile on her lips as he nuzzled gently at her throat.

* * *

Gene had woken her with a warm tender kiss, turning her in his arms and guiding her hand to the straining length of his erection, groaning lightly as she grasped him, her stroke falling into a rhythm as she suggestively threw one long leg over his hip. He'd smiled, shaken his head, and pushed her lower; if she'd had any objections, she'd failed to voice them, and a while later he came into her mouth, groaning his release as his fingers tangled in her hair...

In the office three hours later, it was still all he could think about, and he watched her from his office with a gentle smirk on his lips, silently enjoying the sight of her; slim, long legs, huge tits, and the swell of her stomach that gripped at his chest and caused his heart beat to treble. Every now and then, he'd catch her eye, see her hand resting across the slight bulge, see the corner of her mouth turn up in a genuine smile, and he'd grin, light up a cigarette, and watch her for another five minutes, regardless of the mounting piles of paperwork on his desk; being married wasn't such a chore, he'd come to realize – or at least, it wasn't when you were married to a woman who was randier than a nun, dirtier than a hooker, and as gorgeous as Brit Ekland and then some.

He leaned back in his chair and smirked, lighting up a cigarette as Alex buried herself amidst a particularly taxing case, leaning forward to give him a delightful view of her cleavage.

* * *

Alex headed into the small kitchen area a while later, taking two cups from the shelf and smiling as the diamond of her engagement ring caught her eye, settled next to the small gold band that Gene had given her on their wedding day. She felt her lips twitch, felt the muscles in her cheek stretch as she recalled everything; the smile on his face, the warmth of his hands in her own, the smell of his aftershave as he'd taken her in his arms and kissed her as he lowered her to the bed, the feeling of his mouth on her neck as he'd whispered softly against her skin, promising her everything, anything...

"Good girl!" His gruff growl in her ear brought her back to reality, and she jumped as his arm slipped around her waist, blushing red as he nibbled lightly on her ear. "Knew you wouldn't let me die of thirst," he mumbled, kissing her jaw gently as she absently stirred his drink, biting on her lip.

She felt him frown, felt his eyes scan her face for any giveaway of her thoughts, and then he chuckled, the vibrations of his chest echoing through her as he squeezed her slightly tighter in his arms. "Stop thinking about me naked," he told her quietly, hand slipping to her arse. "It's bad enough havin' to work with that bunch o' tossers out there fer eight hours a day, but if I get thinking that you're horny an' up for it, I'll be more frustrated than a cannibal in a salad bar!"

Alex grinned, taking a sip of hot water and shaking her head. "I'm always horny and up for it, Gene; I just have a reasonable sense of decorum when it comes to shagging in work hours."

"Bollucks do you," Gene muttered, grimacing at her tasteless drink and reaching for his coffee. "If I offered, you would."

"In which case," Alex replied, smirking. "I trust you not to offer."

He rolled his eyes, narrowing his eyes as she took another sip of water. "You still drinking that shit?" He asked, frowning. She nodded, shrugging slightly.

"It's all I can drink," she murmured absently. "Tea tastes like vomit, coffee tastes like urine, and the one time I tried hot squash I vomited all over Ray's brand new shoes."

Gene chuckled, taking a sip of coffee. "Serves him right, the useless tosser," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "What were they made out of anyway? Camel skin?"

"No," Alex laughed, shaking her head. "It was suede; he thought they were bird-pullers, if I recall correctly."

"If you're trying to pull a bloody pigeon, maybe," Gene muttered in an undertone, wetting his lips and glancing at the clock. "Right, come on," he said, nodding towards the clock, "same said tosser and Poirot pulled in the jewellery store blaggers we were after; bloke looks like a sailor, and the bird looks like Minnie Mouse with a gun."

"You mean she's black?" Alex asked without thinking, frowning slightly.

"No," Gene answered swiftly, grinning to himself as he stepped back and took a large gulp of hot coffee. "I mean she's got ears bigger than 'er tits, an' a nose to rival 'er fella's wotsits!"

Alex laughed despite herself, taking a sip of her water and then pushing away from the counter top. "Well," she said softly, "with a description like that, how can I possibly resist accompanying you?"

Gene chuckled, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head and combing his fingers gently through her hair. "My point exactly," he mumbled, grinning as she rolled her eyes at him.

"No need to be so modest, Gene," she grinned, cupping her tea with both hands. "Nobody's going to hear you."

"No Bols," he smiled, leaning forwards to whisper in her ear, "but I'll make damn sure they'll hear you." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and then delivered a smarting smack to her behind, chuckling as she gasped in evident surprise. "Now get yer tits out of my face an' do some bloody work, you lazy bint!"

Alex looked indignant, eyebrows raised in mock shock for a brief moment, before she closed the space between them, one hand on his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe to murmur softly in his ear. "I will," she whispered, nipping his ear. "You know how much I like to work..." She drew away a moment later, hand brushing his crotch as she nodded towards the door.

Gene simply smirked, waving his arm and indicating that she lead the way; with a roll of the eyes, Alex walked ahead, fully aware that Gene's gaze remained firmly fixated upon her arse. For a moment, he enjoyed the view, briefly wetting his lips as he felt a familiar stirring in his groin, fuelled further by the playful banter.... Then, with a grin, he spoke up, his voice teasing; "Oh, and Bolly?"

She turned back, smiling with a false sweetness. "Yes, Gene?"

"Minnie Mouse isn't black..." He smirked to himself, taking a smug gulp of coffee before walking past her, grinning at her somewhat surprised expression, before taking full advantage and goosing her firmly; she bit back a yelp, glowering at him as he moved ahead of her to the double doors that led out to the corridor.

* * *

"Parcel for you, Ma'am," Viv said as the pair of them passed his desk, reaching under his counter and drawing out a large, industrially wrapped box, secured with brown tape and addressed plainly to 'Detective Inspector Alexandra Hunt'. She felt Gene stand at her shoulder, eyeing the package with burning curiosity and evident interest.

"Do they do office deliveries on underwear now, Bols?" He murmured suggestively in her ear, smirking slightly as she rolled her eyes and Viv turned away; if he hadn't been so dark-skinned, Alex thought, they could certainly have seen him blush. "I wouldn't have minded you sending them home..."

She frowned, shaking her head and tugging the package towards her. "I haven't ordered anything," Alex murmured, looking at the stamp and frowning. "And this was processed in Birmingham; it's not even local..." With a frown, she searched for the start of the tape, pulling it away with difficulty.

Gene shrugged, taking a swig from his coffee and nodding towards it. "Maybe it's a belated 'your-husbands-a-bastard-here's-some-sympathy' gift," he smirked, stepping closer, and then rolling his eyes as she tugged hopelessly at the tape.

"'ere," he muttered, pushing his coffee into her hand and tearing the parcel open; a moment later he drew out a smaller box, and sighed in frustration at the sight, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "It's like bloody china dolls!" He protested, tearing at the parcel as Alex placed his drink down on the counter, waiting patiently as he ripped back both tape and lid, before pushing the now open box towards Alex; she peered in, rolling her eyes at the polystyrene balls filling up the box and then pushing her hand in with a slight look of confusion, rummaging awkwardly at the bottom.

Gene sighed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up, half-heartedly watching as she sent numerous pieces of polystyrene tumbling across Viv's desk; the look of concentration on her face disappeared at the same moment that Viv nudged Gene forcibly in the arm, pointing at the bottom of the second box with a gulp.

"Guv," he muttered, "look..."

His eyes followed the direction of Viv's finger, and a second later he'd grabbed Alex's hand, tightening his grip on her wrist and forcing her to relinquish her hold on the mystery item; when he drew her newly empty hand out, it was dotted with droplets of red to match the odd stain on the bottom-left corner of the box, and Gene felt his mouth go dry.

"Skipper," he murmured, voice slightly uneven. "Put that back in the other box and get it to forensics; I want a turnaround by tonight - if that isn't blood, I'm Michael Parkinson's left bolluck."

"Yes, Guv," Viv muttered, nodding and moving forwards quickly.

Gene glanced worriedly at Alex, who was still eyeing her hand with a blatant air of bewilderment, before he gathered her swiftly into his arms, pressing his lips to her forehead as she frowned in surprise.

"Gene, I don't think it's anything too-!"

She didn't get to finish her sentence; as Viv collected up the box, the bottom flaps gave way, sending the polystyrene tumbling to the floor, just pre-empting a loud clattering noise as a small bundle fell to the floor.

He heard Viv swear, felt Alex tremble in his arms, and felt a horrible twist in the pit of his stomach as he recognised the shape of a naked toy doll, smeared with red and with the plastic arms outstretched as if in invitation, hands red and garish to the eye, with a similarly red cross etched into the plastic stomach.

"Bugger me," he heard Viv mutter, before Alex's rasping breath drew his complete attention, and he enveloped her firmly against his chest, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat as Viv hurried to box it back up.

* * *

**Hope it was alright – let me know what you thought!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	2. Bloody Threats

**So I don't really know where this came from- I woke up Sunday morning and was struck by a sudden desire to revisit Alex, Gene, and the beautifully smutty world they were living in before series 3 ruined it for me… And after re-reading some of the reviews for The Art of Living, and glancing through this first chapter again, I remembered why I loved writing them so much… So, if there's anyone still out there interested, here is the next, long overdue, chapter. **

**I still don't own the Ashes to Ashes characters – if I did, they would have had rampant sex and numerous babies for our viewing pleasure, until the end of time. That's all.**

* * *

"Get it to forensics, Viv," Gene growled, arms tightening on Alex as her body began to quiver against his chest. "Tell Bronson to screw everything else he's working on if he values his bollucks, and to ring me a report through within two hours!"

Viv nodded, clearly still in shock, his dark skin slightly lighter in pallor, as he picked the box and all of its contents up as swiftly and delicately as he could. Gene watched it disappear out of sight with a dark, boiling anger in his gut, and it was only as Alex clutched his chest that he was once more made aware of the scarlet liquid on her fingers.

"Bols," he murmured, pulling back and grasping her face firmly in his hands, tilting her chin up towards him; his heart wrenched, a sensation no longer unfamiliar to him, as he saw the tears flowing swiftly down her delicately crafted cheeks, leaving trails of mascara in their wake. "Come on," he said, grasping her by the elbow and leading her out of CID and towards the ladies toilets. "Let's get you cleaned up, 'ey?"

* * *

It was only half an hour later, when a shell-shocked Alex was settled on the counter of the toilet, her scrubbed hands - now red only on account of the rawness with which she had attacked the mess upon them- unconsciously twisting around one another, that Gene spoke again. He was unsure now of whether he ought to draw her into his arms or simply leave her to her own space. Part of him, a grotesque, twisted and horrified part of him, was terrified to reach for her hands, scared not only of the substance that had washed so recently away, but of the reaction that his touch might prompt. "I'll sort this, ok Bolly?" his voice was soft, a low growl that was as much a threat as it was a promise. "Whoever sent it – whatever 'it' is – we'll get 'em, 'ey?"

Alex nodded absently, staring at her hands as though they were alien to her, the obvious revulsion she felt echoed in the yellow tinge of her usually alabaster skin, the thin set of her lip, and the tremor that shook from her arms to her fingers. "Do you know," she murmured softly, her voice a haunted, distant whisper that Gene had to strain to hear, and which struck a nerve deep in his chest. "I had a doll just like that when I was little…"

Gene, lacking tact and empathy at the best of times, made what he considered a very wise decision to remain silent, simply electing to watch Alex as she continued.

"I called her Emma," she whispered. "She had just the same face- tiny, tiny button nose, and those big blue eyes, and that wiry blonde hair…" She was staring at Gene's chest, but he knew she wasn't seeing it; her right hand moved delicately, almost as though it were stroking something, and he felt his stomach knot – a moment later, repulsion aside, he had taken her hands in his, feeling their ice-cold fingertips against his own clammy flesh and attempting to rub some warmth back into them… If Alex noticed, she gave no sign of it, simply staring into space with her hazel eyes, normally so bright, now dull with something akin to fear. "I used to play doctors and nurses with her," her voice was light, falsely so, and brimming with irony as Alex started to giggle to herself. "I used to wrap toilet paper around her and pretend she'd broken an arm!" She was laughing, but it was cold and fearful, and the tremors racking her body were not of humour but hysteria, and Gene felt his blood run cold at the sound of it.

"Isn't it ironic?" She carried on, giggling amidst her trembling, "isn't it so terribly, wonderfully ironic that _right_ now, right this very _second_ in _this_ year, I am sat playing with a doll identical to the one that just landed on my desk covered in crap?" She was shaking her head, fingers clenching and unclenching on Gene's as she laughed and cried simultaneously; Gene could only watch and listen, swallowing the lump in his throat that rose unbidden. It had been forever since she'd spoken like this – her riddles and queries about time and place and existence had seemed to slip away slowly in the last year, and he wasn't ashamed to say that he had not missed them in the slightest.

"And you know what else is ironic?" She giggled, leaning towards Gene and beckoning him to her as though she were a child possessed of the most delicious secret imaginable. "I never even liked her!" She spluttered then, laughter bursting from her like a dam, and it was all Gene could do to stop her falling from the countertop.

"I never liked her one bit," she recalled, shaking her head as she grinned up at him. "I only played with her to make Evan happy!" She was frenzied and incomprehensible, but she continued on all the same. "I used to wonder why anyone in their right mind would give a child a toy that looked so fantastically horrible, and now I'm having my own baby and people are sending them for me! Can you believe that? I haven't even had the baby yet and we're already getting presents! I mean, isn't that just- just…." The hysteria seemed to suddenly abate; the madness and frenzy and crazed alertness that had gripped her suddenly melted away, and her shoulders slumped as her eyes, brimming with tears, met Gene's properly for the first time. "Gene," she whispered, her voice filled once more with fear and confusion as a tear trickled from her eye, "why have they sent it?"

Gene stared back at her, eyes burning with rage and determination as he saw, for perhaps the third time ever, the true fragility that lay beneath the mask of bravado and stubbornness his wife usually wore so well. He saw every fleck of fear, every desperate worry and each horrified thought flick across her hazel eyes, and a moment later he enveloped her, pulling him into his chest and tangling his hand in her hair. "I dunno, Alex," he whispered, "but I'll be buggered if I ain't gunna find out."

* * *

Gene stormed into Bronson's lab half an hour later, having put Viv in charge of Alex's wellbeing in the meantime.

"But Guv," he'd protested, panic flickering across his eyes, "she needs a woman!"

"Why thank you Sergeant Shit-for-brains, for drawing the matter to my attention," Gene had drawled, his voice low and menacing. "Unfortunately, the only plonk I'd trust with that woman is currently honeymooning flagrante in Alicante, and since DS Carling shows as much empathy for human life as your average bog-brush, you're the next in line… So unless you'd like to spend the next two months buried in a mountain of paperwork, I'd get in there and make her a cuppa… sharpish!" Viv hadn't needed telling twice, and Gene felt confident that Alex would at least be looked after well enough for him to visit Bronson, the forensic whiz who, unfortunately, Gene had to admit, had not yet let him down.

"What've we got?" He asked, storming into the room without so much as a by-your-leave and glowering darkly at the suspect cardboard boxes occupying the centre of the lab, laid alongside the grotesque doll that made Gene's entire body clam up, and which Bronson was currently analysing with microscopes and scalpel blades.

Perhaps it was sympathy, or, perhaps more likely, it was blatantly obvious that any sort of protest to Gene's demand would be met by a severe punch in the face, but Bronson straightened up quietly and set his instruments down with no hint of an argument, and no real physical response other than to look particularly grim. Gene felt his stomach clench as the other gentleman spoke.

"Well," he said softly, his voice grave and more than a little emphatic, "it's everything you're probably expecting it to be… And then a little bit more, I'm afraid." He swallowed slightly, picking up the doll in his gloved hands and turning it over gently.

"The dolls nothing special, particularly – easy enough to get hold of on the High Street, though perhaps a little more high end than the usual sort; nothing to get excited over though, I bought a similar one for niece a few weeks ago…" He set the doll down, clenching his jaw for a moment before continuing. "The cuts in it, although a little difficult to make out given the material of the doll, were probably made with a normal kitchen knife – again, not particularly traceable… But the blood-!"

"Is it definitely blood?" Gene asked, swallowing back a lump as he flicked his eyes at Bronson; he hoped the other man didn't see the desperate plea in his eyes, but the sympathy that he received in response said it all.

"I'm afraid so," Bronson nodded, indicating a file on his desk. "I haven't been able to run it for any matches yet, but it's certainly blood; they've used some sort of thinning agent, which has reduced the ability to clot, which explains why it hasn't dried whilst in the mail, which it should have done…"

He reached for his note pad and ripped the top page off, handing it to Gene as he continued. "It was sent from Birmingham – all the postmark details are written here. I also took the liberty of calling Dr James, the forensic officer over in West Midlands Police service – he's agreed to run a sample for any matches at that end too, which may, perhaps, be more fruitful."

"Get it sent over, right now," Gene ordered, waving at the boxes and doll and carrying on. "Do whatever it is you do, put some in a jug and get it sent over, right now; if it's not on his desk before tomorrow morning I'll be stringing you up by yer pubes and playing pinyata on yer ballsack, you got that?"

Bronson smirked, and nodded. "Understood; I thought you might say something along those lines, anyway, so the courier is on his way right now. It should be there by this evening, traffic permitting."

Gene nodded, silently grateful, but his face remained set in a grim line. "Anything else?"

From Bronson's body language, he knew immediately that the worst was still to come, although somehow he couldn't imagine what it might be. A moment later, Bronson lifted a piece of paper from the side of one parcel. "This was sellotaped to the side of the box… I can only guess to it's significance but… well… here…" He held it out to Gene, who's eyes fell on the newspaper cut-out message before him, and he immediately felt the colour drain from his face, fear and cold flooding through him as he stared down at the simple message before him.

'27th JULY 1984'

He felt his stomach drop, and could barely listen as Bronson continued speaking. "I can't tell you any more of who they are, DCI Hunt – there aren't any prints anywhere, except for the people who have handled the parcel in this very building, and I can't guarantee a match on the blood – but I think you and I both know that threats don't come much clearer than this."

Gene nodded, and, without another word, stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Bronson watched him leave, and almost felt pity for whoever was foolish enough to threaten Gene Hunt's wife; lord only knew what the DCI would do to them if they were caught.

* * *

She was sat in the canteen, looking slightly less haunted, but still shaken, and Viv was watching her with nervous apprehension, as though unsure how best to remedy the situation. He had clearly tried to get her to eat and drink something; a sandwich lay on the table in front of her, along with a plate of garibaldi's, completely untouched. The tea in front of her was cold, and looked as though it hadn't been touched since it was placed in front of her. Gene grimaced, and dismissed Viv with a jerk of the head; the sergeant looked relieved, and, with only a brief, concerned glance over his shoulder in Alex's direction, he left the room.

Gene lingered at the door for a moment, watching Alex's hands as she began to caress the small bump of her stomach, cradling it protectively with hands that, though shaking, would surely never allow anything to harm it. With loping strides, he crossed the room in mere moments, kneeling in front of her with a lump in his throat.

"Alex," he murmured, gently and tentatively placing his right hand over hers, feeling the coolness of her skin and covering it in its entirety. She blinked, and looked up at him with eyes that were glassy with tears. His other hand reached slowly towards her hair, brushing a stray lock back behind her ears and tracing a gentle, falsely steady finger down her delicate cheeks. "Bols," he whispered the nickname softly, loving, agonisingly, and she seemed to come back to herself a little, her face regaining some of its colour as she touched her hand to his. His heart swelled, and he framed her face with his two large hands, relief flooding through him as he touched his forehead against hers. Her skin was clammy with cold sweat and he could feel the cool beads against his own flesh as he spoke. "Come on, Bollykecks," he murmured, his blue eyes fixed on hers, "we've got this."

She nodded, and he was close enough to hear her swallow, could only imagine the size of the lump that blocked her airway as she fought to speak. "What did Bronson say?"

Her voice was small, fearful, and in that moment Gene knew that he couldn't tell her, couldn't possibly give her any more reason to be scared, to speak in that shallow, fragmented and broken voice that tore at his heart and ripped into his very soul. So, telling himself it was for her own safety, her own sanity, he shrugged and said, "nothing Bols; just a prank. We'll sort it." He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, hoping against hope that, if she noticed the slight hitch in his voice, or the tension that rippled through his shoulders as he said it, she would simply assume it was relief. It was a sign of how terrified she had been that she did not question him further. A moment later, as her body relaxed and she rested her head on his shoulder, Gene released a ragged breath of air, wrapping his arms around her and staring straight ahead at the calendar on the wall, at the red heart that marked Chris and Shaz's wedding as only yesterday, and the blank space next to it labelled only as February 19th. With a grimace, he looked away from it, and pulled Alex closer to him.

"Come on, Bols," he mumbled, gently unfolding his long legs and guiding Alex to her feet. "Coffee times over; these psychiatry reports won't write themselves."

"It's psychology," Alex replied softly, with just a hint of irritation, and Gene couldn't help but give a small, relieved smile. She met his eyes, and sighed softly, squeezing his hand in silent thanks and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'll get right on it, Guv," she said softly, and, though he had no real intention of making her do any such thing, he nodded his agreement as she made to move past him, lightening the moment ever so slightly with a gentle slap to her behind. She smiled weakly at him, and, in a vain attempt to maintain the pretence that none of this was worth worrying over, he smiled back, knowing as he did so that it hadn't reached his eyes. Her eyes flickered questioningly, and for a moment he thought she might ask him again… But a second later, she had shaken her head, and turned on her heel, and though the spring was gone from her step, he could tell that, at least in part, some of her fears had been alleviated.

As soon as she had disappeared into the office, Gene sought out Viv.

"Tell Ray to get his arse into the interview room in five minutes if he places any value on his bollucks, alright Skipper?"

* * *

"Guv?" Ray sloped up to Gene as he stood outside the interview room; a frown crinkling the Sergeant's features, and he lit up a cigarette just as Gene stomped out his own.

"A word of this gets back to DI Drake, I'll impound your arse and make sure every woman in London knows you've got ten types of infection, you got that?" Gene's hand was on the doorknob, his eyes dark, his voice was low and menacing, and after over fifteen years working together, three of which had been alongside Drake, Ray knew that whatever it was, it would be more than his life's worth to let slip.

"Yes Guv," he nodded, taking a long drag on his cigarette as Gene opened the door swiftly, and jerked his head, indicating that Ray should lead the way. With a feeling of nervous trepidation in the pit of his stomach, Ray entered and stood waiting for what he could only assume was bad news. As if reading his mind, the Guv spoke.

"It's bad, Raymondo," Gene started, shaking his head and pulling a hip flask out of his jacket pocket; after two swigs, he screwed the cap back on, grimacing at the taste before continuing. "She finds out I've lied to her she'll stuff me knackers with herbs and serve 'em with stew…" He pocketed the flask, then grabbed the chair in front of him, bracing his arms as he met the calm, watchful eyes of his trusted sergeant. With a deep breath, he went on. "It was blood; don't know who's yet and God knows I ain't sure that I want to, but it was. Whoever it is hasn't left a trace of themselves on the box, the doll, or anything else… All we've got is this-" he handed over the scrap of paper that Bronson had torn from his notepad, and Ray glanced at it briefly, before nodding, swiftly pocketing it as Gene went on, "- and there's a note; you'll need Bronson to make a copy, but I want every letter accounted for. Might not be London papers – might be national, maybe local to Birmingham, but I want 'em found, and I want 'em pronto, got that?"

Ray nodded, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Yes Guv," he murmured, glancing at his DCI with concern and awaiting further information. When nothing was forthcoming, he broached the question himself. "What's on the note, Guv?" he asked, eyebrows knitting together as he carefully watched Gene's face, noting as he did so the way that it twisted and contorted into an expression of equal pain, anger and determination.

"28th July, 1984," Gene answered, voice reasonably flat, and yet somehow rippled with fury; he tightened his already white-knuckled grip on the chair in front of him, flexing his fingers and exhaling raggedly.

Ray, oblivious, simply frowned. "What's that about then?" He asked, face crinkled with concentration and wondering at the obscurity, racking his brains for any reason that this date, among all others, might be of importance. The effect on Gene's persona was as abrupt as it would have been had he been punched; his shoulders slumped, and, after a moment wherein he hanged his head in helplessness, he met Ray's eyes; his expression was so severe, so dangerous and yet so unequivocally anxious, that Ray felt his blood run cold in his veins even before Gene spoke.

"It's – it's Bolly… It's Alex's due date."

* * *

**I can only hope it has at least a little bit of intrigue to bring you all back. I haven't written anything (literally) since the end of my GAlex/ A2A muse, so I really hope I haven't become too horrendous! Happy to say that I actually enjoyed writing this though (maybe because it's been quite angsty and whatever else, but I'll take it!) **

**Hope some of you are still out there with more faith than I had!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	3. Home and Horrors

**So grateful to everyone that reviewed the last chapter – can't believe you all came back, but am very touched by all the messages!**

**I still don't own the Ashes to Ashes characters – if I did, they would have had rampant sex and numerous babies for our viewing pleasure, until the end of time. That's all.**

* * *

Alex stared blankly at the page before her, the words swimming before her eyes, completely alien and unintelligible as she buried her face in her hands. The cool gold metal of her wedding and engagement rings pushed against her temple, and she attempted to seek solace in their reassuring pressure, appeased slightly by the knowledge that Gene would not rest until the obscure prank artist had been apprehended…

But part of her remained uneasy, unsettled, uncertain; she could not shake the feeling that he had been hiding something from her, keeping darker truths hidden behind his keen blue eyes. She knew him well, enough at times to pre-empt his conversation and predict his behaviour, but today, she saw, for the first time in a long time, that the walls he had once maintained with unwavering dedication -walls he had learned to let down around her, that she had managed to navigate and understand - had been instinctively rebuilt.

That in itself, she told herself, was a cause for concern.

She grimaced slightly, swiping at her eyes with a deft hand, only to freeze, her stomach lurching as the smell of iron overpowered her, guts clenching with revulsion as she jumped to her feet, dashing swiftly to the canteen and scrubbing at her hands with layer upon layer of soap, trying to eradicate the memory of the liquid that had stained her hands, as much as the smell or stain. She could not shake the niggling voice which, at the back of her mind, insisted it were blood, but nor could she accept so much as the possibility that this were the case. She told herself that it were simply her imagination, that she were thinking on the point too excessively, that she ought to put it to the back of her mind and allow Gene to resolve the issue as he saw fit… She grimaced, the thought striking a chord as she imagined exactly what Gene would do to whoever had played this so-called prank…

"Bols?" his voice interrupted her reverie, and she jerked round, forgetting the soap suds which stretched all the way up her arm and caused him to frown at her almost warily as he stood in the doorway. "Blimey, Bolly," he murmured, wriggling his eyebrows a little, "if I'd known you were having a bubble bath in 'ere, I'd 'ave come an' found you sooner!" He crossed the space between them in two long strides, his legs eating the ground up until he was right in front of her, close enough for his familiar smell to settle in her nostils; for a moment, the iron stench of blood was washed away, and she inhaled lungful's of his scent as he grabbed the hand towel beside her, swiftly but delicately wiping away the suds that covered her skin. A moment later, his arms enveloped her, and her face was buried instantly in his shirt, breathing in the intoxicating scent that was all Gene; whiskey, clean laundry, cigarettes, Old Spice, and that indistinguishable base note that was so uniquely his. The tension in her shoulders lessened instantly with the reassurance of his familiarly strong arms, and she nestled closer with a breath of relief.

"C'mon Bollykecks," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Let's get you 'ome."

* * *

It was still early afternoon, and returning home felt alien to Alex, but as Gene parked the Quattro up outside their house, and led her inside, she could not have agreed more that it was the best place for her. The house was a little cool, the heating not set to kick in until 6pm, and so, as Gene spent several minutes fiddling with knobs and buttons, Alex settled on the sofa, kept warm by the ever-loving canine bundle that was Fitz, who settled his head on her lap with a protective growl, one foreleg thrown across her thighs as his tongue lapped gently at the hand not stroking his back. His warm head rested gently against her bump, and, his eyes drooped lazily, and she suddenly felt safe, enveloped in the home that she and Gene had created for themselves.

When Gene entered the room a few minutes later, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie askew, Alex felt a sudden rush of gratitude, which she could not express in word, and which seemed to form itself only as a weak smile in his direction. His eyes skimmed over her, over Fitz, and over the small bump that was nestled warmly between them, and she saw his shoulders loosen slightly as he seemed to relax, his gaze almost approving as he leant over to brush a gentle kiss across her lips. His mouth was warm and tender, the same as the hand which ran gently through her hair, before giving Fitz a soft scratch behind the ears. The dog rumbled his contentment, flicking his eyes briefly at Gene as he did so.

"Good boy," Gene murmured, and the Alsatians' heavy tail thumped, once, twice, three times against the sofa, before falling still again. Alex smiled up at Gene, her own eyes suddenly heavy with sleep, and gently took his hand in hers.

"Don't be late back," she murmured softly; her voice was, level, calm and professional, but her eyes pleaded with him silently, and Gene had to fight off the urge to stay, to take her in his arms and let her be as weak as she needed to be… But he couldn't, and he knew that his staying there would only delay the inevitable, that it would be easier to get an investigation afoot when Alex was out of earshot, well away from the clumsy oaf's who might lose their discretion around her; at least this way, he could threaten to beat seventy shades of shit out of them without her watching…

"Y'know me, Bols," he murmured, glancing at the clock. "Back at beer o'clock, come hell or high water…" He pressed a fleeting kiss to her lips, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze before pulling away. Their eyes met, and for a moment, he thought about saying it – the thing that, after all this time, still caught in his throat and terrified him as much as it thrilled him… but even as he thought it, she smiled knowingly at him, and nodded.

"I love you too, Gene."

With one last look at her, and a small, grateful nod, he left the house, taking extra care to lock the front door as he went.

* * *

Ray was at his desk and, to his credit, though he had a small tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he was poring over the copied note and carefully comparing each letter to recent newspapers and magazines. Upon inspection though, Gene couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"The Racing Post?" He exclaimed, picking the magazine up and meeting Ray's eyes with something between amusement and rage. "Now, I'm not a psychiatrist, or psychologist, or whatever the 'ell you're meant to call it these days, but if our mystery prank artist is putting bets on Red Rum while 'e sends pregnant women threats, I'm as black as Mandela's left bollock!" He slammed the magazine down on the desk, swiftly scanning the remaining pile and clenching his jaw. "And I don't think the last five issues of Playboy are gonna be hiding anything behind their tits either!"

"Sorry Guv," Ray grimaced, pushing the offending magazines away and waving his arm at the note, "DI Drake usually gives us a profile for this kinda thing, tell us where to look!" For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, then ventured forth a suggestion, his voice slightly lower and more reluctant. "Maybe we should ask her, Guv? I mean, she-"

Gene bristled visibly, interrupting sharply. "If you want to be the reason DI Drake puts us all six feet under with a scalpel through our knackers, you be my bloody guest! Personally I'm quite comfortable with mine where they are; swingin' freely an' comfortably free of foreign objects!" Without another word, he turned on his heel and slammed into the office. As he poured himself a generous measure of whiskey, he couldn't even bring himself to feel sorry.

Ray, taking his reaction as a resounding no, settled back to work at his desk.

* * *

Two hours later, with a copy of the note on his desk and every woman's magazine in the building in front of him, Gene could only account for three of the characters used. One, the first '8', came from Cosmopolitans '8 Ways To Conceive'; the 'L' came from the title banner of McCalls most recent issue, and the 'y', Gene noted with a clenching in his gut, came from the latest issue of 'Dolly' – upon that discovery, he had gulped down two tumblers of whiskey and put his head in his hands.

Ray, as loyal as ever despite Gene's previous outbursts, came in a short while later to tell him that the 'T' hailed from The Times, and the 'u' from an obscure knitting magazine specializing in quilts and patchwork. He delivered the news swiftly, hesitating at the door as Gene nodded his thanks, then walking in and closing the door behind himself.

"Guv," Ray started, grimacing slightly as he chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his lip before continuing. "I mean it… Maybe we should tell Drake…"

Gene's head snapped up to attention then, but, despite the force of his glare, and the venom behind it, Ray didn't back down.

"She's got a right to know, Guv," he said. "An' there ain't nobody in 'ere who can keep a secret once Drake starts naggin' at 'em. She's a plonk alright, but she ain't thick; she'll figure it out sooner or later." Ray met his eyes for a few seconds, holding his gaze with as much sympathy as he dared fathom, noting the lines of worry that were etching themselves into Gene's face before adding, "maybe you should go home, Guv."

He let himself out without another word, and, knowing he was right, Gene didn't bother to argue his point.

* * *

When Gene returned home an hour later, he found that Alex and Fitz had not moved from the sofa, though they were now lying side by side, the dog still, silent and watchful as Alex slept softly. With a small clenching in his chest, Gene sat himself on the floor in front of the sofa, his head lolling comfortably against the armrest as he looked into Alex's sleeping face. Her fingers twitched slightly, a few inches from his shoulder, and he grasped them gently in his own, compelled with a fierce desire to protect her, and the painful knowledge that Ray had been right; she'd figure it out, sooner or later. He'd never met anyone so incorrigibly stubborn, and if she got so much as a whiff that something weren't right, she'd hunt each of them down and grill them with as much tenacity as she possibly could... It was one of the reasons he'd fallen for her; she was as pig-headed and to the point as he was, and as stubborn as an ass. If the tables were turned, he knew he'd smash down doors and break bones to get to the bottom of it – she might have more subtle, perhaps more tactile ways of doing it, but the result would be the same; she'd never give up, and neither would he. It was a quality that, much as it had always enraged him, had also only ever served to endear her to him further.

"Gene?" her voice interrupted his thoughts, heavy with sleep and gravelly after hours of silence, and he pressed her fingers to his lips almost reverently.

"I'm 'ere Bolly," he murmured, squeezing her hand gently in his own.

"Is everything ok?" she asked her heavy eyes fluttering open, slightly unfocused for a moment, before they sought out his own.

He should tell her now, he thought, gazing into the hazel coloured pools before him. If he told her now, maybe she'd blame his secrecy on his desire to protect her own fragility… Maybe she'd forgive him for not exactly telling the truth when she'd asked him for it earlier…

"Yeah Bols," he said gently, squeezing her hand again. "Everything's fine."

* * *

She was fast asleep when he woke up the next morning, her delicately curvy frame tucked into the circle of his arm, the warm bump of her stomach resting gently against his side. With a gentle, protective hand, he caressed it softly, believing for just a moment that he could feel the soft thump of a small, strong heart against the warm flesh of Alex's stomach. She stirred at his touch, nestling closer into him as her breath teased his skin. His eyes closed for the briefest moment, enjoying the thrill of it, the suppleness of her skin beneath his hand, and the cool air that tickled his chest and neck, sparking a reaction he could barely control. With a sharp intake of breath, before Alex could awaken further, he dislocated himself from her and went through to the bathroom.

* * *

He should have told her, he thought, arms braced against the bathroom sink as he glared at his own reflection. He knew he should have told her, because, apart from anything else, as much as he told himself everything would be ok, hearing it from her would make it more believable, more palpable. Not to mention the wave of guilt that kept threatening to crush him beneath its weight every time he considered the lie he had subjected her to… But, as much guilt as there was, he could not deny the incessant need to protect her, to make sure she had nothing to fear, nothing to be wary of. How could he tell her that it wasn't simply a prank, but a cruel threat, the kind of which he couldn't even begin to understand? But equally, he tried to assure himself, perhaps there really was nothing to worry over. Perhaps this need prove no more than a terrible joke… He could hear the gnawing, nagging voice at the back of his mind, disagreeing with him, insisting that it was every bit as bad as his instincts suggested, but he ignored it.

No, he told himself firmly, he would wait until he knew more, until he could appease her with the assurance that he had it under his control… It would be stupid to scare her any more than she already was.

Besides, he thought, how could he tell her anything, when really, there was nothing to tell?

With a grim nod, he silently assured himself that he _would_ tell her… if and when it became absolutely necessary.

* * *

From the look on Ray's face when they reached CID, Gene knew that something was amiss, however, the DS had the tact to wait until Alex had gone to the canteen to get herself a drink before addressing him.

"Bronson wanted to see you Guv; he said it's important."

Bristling with anxiety, and seeing that Ray was on edge, Gene responded snappily. "Is that all he said, or do you just make a point of looking as guilty as a prozzy in a convent?"

Ray grimaced, and then shook his head. "Think you'll wanna hear it from him, Guv." He turned on his heel and headed back to his own desk, and Gene, with mounting nerves, took off down to forensics, stopping only to warn Viv that, if Alex were to ask after him, he was stuck in the bathroom after the previous evenings particularly strong vindaloo.

* * *

The look on Ray's face had not gone unnoticed by Alex who, though well rested and less shaken than the night before, still harboured a certain amount of suspicion regarding Gene's behaviour, and whilst he had assured her throughout the night that there was nothing amiss, nothing to be worried about, he had been reluctant to answer her questions on the matter. In fact, he had gone so far as to avoid the subject, distracting her attention with gentle murmurs of affection that, whilst welcome and heartwarming, were so uncharacteristically Gene, they had set her heart hammering for all the wrong reasons…

So, when she saw the meaningful look that Ray and Gene exchanged, and the grim, reluctant set of the DS's mouth as he nodded to her in greeting, she had excused herself to the canteen, knowing that, if the news were worth worrying over, Ray would waste no time in conveying it to Gene. Sure enough, as soon as she had turned round the corner, walked a few paces, and then doubled back on herself, the two of them were already conversing, Gene looking wound up, Ray looking altogether grim-faced. It was a brief exchange, and one that had clearly served his purpose for, as soon as Ray had returned to his desk, Gene had turned on his heel, not stopping even to remove his billowing overcoat as he headed towards the office door with obvious purpose. Alex swiftly ran into the canteen and put the kettle onto boil, ears peeled for the familiar patter of Gene's shoes on the linoleum floor; when the sound of his footfalls disappeared down the corridor in the other direction, she knew exactly where he was headed, and her heart flipped and sank all at once as, without a moment's hesitation, she followed him.

* * *

When Gene entered the lab, Bronson was sat at his desk, staring at the boxes which shot tiny prickles of fear down Gene's spine.

With a grimace, Gene let the door slam and made his way to the middle of the room, glowering down at the macabre doll which stared emptily up at the ceiling. Bronson was at his side in no time, holding a newspaper in one hand, and a tumbler of whisky in the other. When Gene made to question him, Bronson shook his head.

"It's not for me," he murmured, pushing the tumbler into Gene's hand as he did so. "You're going to need it."

Gene felt his stomach clench again, and resisted the urge to down it immediately. "You're looking about as healthy as a shit in a bun," he muttered, observing the bags under Bronson's eyes and the sorrowful expression that occupied his face; unconsciously, Gene began swirling the amber liquid in its glass, as though preparing to drink it. After a moment's pause, he asked, "How bad is it?"

With a heavy sigh, Bronson settled the newspaper in front of Gene, who paid no heed to it, until the other man nodded at him. "You hear about this?" He asked, indicating the front page story dated only two weeks previously. Gene glanced at it and, though he had no grasp of the story itself, the headline itself was enough to hit him with a proverbial sucker punch to the stomach.

"Who's Baby Jones?" Gene grimaced, glancing at Bronson and noting the sweat on his brow and the lack of colour in his cheeks.

"A little boy, born at Birmingham Children's Hospital about a month ago; he went missing from his cot a short time later, and was found two weeks ago in a dumpster …" Bronson seemed to be struggling inwardly with something, but Gene was reluctant to ask anything further, feeling bile rise up in his throat as he glanced down at the slashed doll on the table before them. A few moments of grim silence followed, before Bronson carried on.

"They'd had to take blood tests and the like immediately, since he came out almost blue and with no obvious explanation as to why, so it was a small blessing that they already had samples when he went missing… Unfortunately, that's about where his luck ran out, because, when they cross referenced those samples with the baby they found in the dumpster, it was a positive match…" He took a breather, apparently trying to figure out how best to continue, before, it seemed to Gene, opting to address the point as bluntly as possible. "He'd been slashed across the chest-" Bronson pointed at the incision maiming the doll in front of them, "-and down the arms, but the coroner determined cause of death as suffocation…"

"Why slice 'em if you're gunna suffocate 'em anyway?" Gene queried, trying to look past the doll and focus on the task at hand.

"The cuts were made after he was already dead," Bronson added softly. "And he'd been bled almost dry when they found him."

"And Bols?" Gene asked, tongue like cotton in his mouth. "What's this got to do with her?"

Bronson's eyes were soft with sympathy, the line of his mouth set and thin as he answered. "The blood in the box… It's a match, confirmed by West Midlands less than an hour ago… It was Baby Jones' blood."

* * *

**I did always like a cliffie. **

**Mage of the Heart**


	4. The Black Bubble

**I still don't own the Ashes to Ashes characters – if I did, they would have had rampant sex and numerous babies for our viewing pleasure, until the end of time. That's all.**

* * *

Gene felt his blood run cold, felt the colour drain from his face and the moistness evaporate from his tongue. He could see Bronson glancing almost expectantly at the glass in his hand, and Gene could almost feel the amber whiskey burning his hands, warming against the sudden chill that now ran through him, but, for perhaps the first time he could remember, he pushed it away, his whole being focused solely on Alex, and, despite his former promises, keeping all that the threat entailed away from her.

He vaguely heard the smash of glass, the force of his shove across the table sending the tumbler and its contents cascading to the floor, but he made no response to it; he could barely see or hear anything – Bronson was asking him something, speaking to him concernedly, but Gene had no interest in his words now, for the only thing he could hear was that terrifying truth, the one that he had been dreading, the one confirmed in those four little words… "It's Baby Jones' blood."

He saw nothing, heard nothing, felt only rage and a fierce protective instinct, and was suddenly struck with the need to find Alex, to hold her, to ensure that she was safe and away from any harm.

He fumbled with the door handle, his hands barely able to keep up with the speed at which his mind was racing; he walked determinedly from the room, felt an incessant sense of purpose rise up in him, and was just about to race towards the office, when his vision cleared and he stared, almost fearfully, into the caramel eyes of his enraged wife.

* * *

Alex heard those four little words and saw red; red for anger, red for danger, red for fear, and red for blood. Her entire field of vision seemed stained with blood, as though someone had removed the colour, but for the bright red letters of the door sign, the red beads of her bracelet and the red scrawl of graffiti on the nearby notice board.

All of her senses seemed both dulled and sharpened, sending signals to her brain both in slow motion and at rapid speed. Her mind was racing, flashing pictures of the butchered doll in front of her eyes, a doll that she now knew lay only a few metres away on the table of Bronson's lab… Her heart was pounding, blood boiling, hands flying protectively to the small bump of her stomach as she swore inwardly that nothing would harm it. She heard the smash of glass, and was swiftly reminded of Gene, felt her rage bubble up with a fantastic surge, her fear replaced momentarily by fury, eyes blazing with a determination that would have made even the strongest lion hesitate in his tracks…

The lion left the den.

* * *

"Bols…!" His voice was dry, crackly, uncertain and nervous, but as he recognised the familiar flush of her skin, the angry hue of her eyes, and the dagger-like gaze she settled upon him, he found himself wishing regretfully for the amber liquid now slopping around on Bronson's floor.

"Don't you 'Bols' me!" Alex snapped, and Gene noted that she was doing that finger thing again, and as sheepish or as guilty as she might want him to feel, he couldn't help but bristle with annoyance. "'Everything's fine Alex," she mimicked, in a far from accurate facsimile of his voice, "'nothing to worry about, Bolly'", she carried on, getting redder and redder in the face by the second. "Were you ever planning to tell me that my baby was being marked for a butcher, Gene, or were you just hoping to replace it with one from lost and found and hope I didn't notice?"

She was angry, he told himself. She had a right to be angry. In fact, if it were the other way around, he imagined he would be throwing a damned large hissy-fit himself and consequences be damned…

"Did you think I wouldn't find out you were running an operation right under my nose?!" Alex was almost laughing, but Gene knew only too well that it wasn't humour edging her tone. "With Ray tip-toe-ing around me like a schoolboy, did you _really _think that I wouldn't figure out the fact that _you _are a complete and utter moronic _bastard_?!" She was red-faced now, turning that dark shade of red that wound him up like a top in more ways than one… "Exactly how _stupid_ would I have to be to not figure out that you were-?"

"Excuse me, your Royal Highness," Gene cut in, "for protecting your prissy little arse from a bloody investigation!" He was on the offensive now, and proceeded by letting the door to Bronson's lab slam decisively behind him. "You know, some women would be grateful to have a bit of protection from yours truly – why did I 'ave to marry the one who couldn't say 'thank you' to Father Christmas in a sweet factory?"

"Oh well_, excuse me_, Gene, for not being 'grateful'" – she was doing the fingers again; god he hated her when she did that! – "for an interfering oaf attempting to run an investigation, without even consulting the primary subject!"

"It was all going fine until you had to go and stick your bloody silver spoon into the mix!" He snapped back, taking a step forward and waving his arm at her. "As if you weren't enough of a pain in the arse before, do you really think I want you blundering around in 'ere with a bellyful of hormones and a head full o' crap? I've got enough on my bloody plate without a paranoid psychotic tart stickin' 'er nose in it!"

She stared at him blankly for a moment, as if shocked, and for a brief, almost wonderful second, he thought he'd gone too far, that perhaps she would burst into tears of apology and simply forgive the whole sorry mess; he got as far as imagining the comforting hug he might be able to give her, before the palm of her hand met his face with a stinging slap.

"Bols, I-!"

"You listen to me, 'Gene'-!" great, he noted through stinging eyes, even his name was back in the bloody fingers now. "If I am paranoid, it's only because some falsely self-important _prick _told me there was nothing to worry about, when every sense I had was telling me otherwise!"

"I'm yer husband not yer bloody vicar!" Gene retorted. "You want the truth Bols, get your jumped up arse to a confessional!"

"And say what, exactly?" Alex hissed, glowering at Gene with dark and angry eyes. "'Forgive me father, for my husbands a self-righteous, misogynistic, pig-headed _imbecil_e?!'"

"If it gets you out of my face for ten minutes, you can say whatever the bloody 'ell you like!" Gene's tone was aggressive, sharp, and Alex stared at him for a moment, her eyes brimming with ferocious venom, her body rigid with pent up fury, a hundred retorts on the tip of her tongue, blazing with anger… And then her shoulders slumped, and Gene thought he saw a slight glisten in her eyes before she turned on her heel and walked determinedly down the corridor. A weight of guilt smashed into him with the force of a sledgehammer, and he took a step forwards, his whole body wrought with pain and his voice filled with anguish as he called after her.

"Bols, I'm-!" She threw up her hand, waving him off without a backwards glance, her speed doubling as she raced away from him, rounding the corner of the corridor and disappearing from view.

With a horrendous pain in the pit of his stomach, Gene turned back into Bronson's lab; the other man had the decency to pretend that he had heard nothing, and Gene was grateful for it as he nodded to the bottle of whiskey on Bronson's desk.

"Give us a drink, would yer?"

* * *

When Gene entered the office an hour later, Alex was huddled at her desk, buried determinedly in a stack of paperwork; as the door closed behind him, Gene saw her back stiffen, like a cat preparing to defend itself, and he felt a tight, twisting pain in his chest that had nothing to do with the speed at which he had just downed half a bottle of whiskey. Ray glanced up at him, as if to say something, and seemed to stop in his tracks, clearly wondering just what had occurred that had resulted in him being half-cut before lunch. Gene said nothing, simply glowering at him and jerking his head in the direction of the door. Ray cast a cursory, concerned glance at Alex, before nodding at Gene, and mumbling something about needing a fag.

"Alex, I-!"

"Don't you _dare_, Gene!" Alex interrupted him, jerking around in her chair and jumping to her feet as she pointed her finger at him. "Don't you _dare_ come in here and tell me that you're '_sorry_'! Don't you _dare_! You had no right to keep any of this from me! Not as my superior officer, and certainly not as my husband! So if that's what you're here for, you can just get out, right now!"

She was red-faced with anger, and hurt, and a frustration that Gene knew came from fighting back tears. He swallowed, and shook his head. "I ain't gettin' out, Bols; it's my office," he mumbled it, attempting to distract her with humour; the dark glower she sent in his direction swiftly dissuaded him, and he grimaced as she began another tirade.

"Do you think this is funny?" She was shrieking, her voice seeming two octaves higher than normal and almost painful to the ears. "Do you think I'm amused? Because I can tell you this second, Hunt, I have never been as pissed at you as I am this very second! So if you think you can just come in here and start mouthing off, I swear to you I-!"

"Alright, Bollykecks, keep yer knickers on!" He interrupted, anticipating the violent shade of purple that her face took on and immediately taking the opportunity to continue talking.

"I'm not gonna say I'm sorry Bols, 'cause I'm not," he scuffed his toe along the floor as he grimaced before continuing. "And you won't make me sorry fer not tellin' yer either, so you can pull yer knickers back out of yer arse and deal with it. I'd 'ave rather drowned me own knackers in lighter fluid an' set 'em on fire than told you…" He swallowed, seeing that she was no closer to forgiveness, and knowing he needed to bite the bullet if she was ever going to return to her usual colour. Unfortunately, that decision took a second too long, and a moment later he was subjected to another torrent of rage.

"You had no right to keep it from me, Gene!" She snapped. "If I dare to keep so much as an inkling to myself during an investigation, I receive the third degree from you! This is my child and I have the right to know if somebody is threatening it! More so than you and certainly more so than Ray! It might have escaped your notice in recent months, but_ I'm_ a police officer too, whatever underwear I wear, and you will not dictate what investigations I am and am not privy to! I-"

"You're my wife, Alex!" Gene growled defensively. "I'm well aware you're a copper, and you might even recall that I'm more than acquainted with your drawers as well, but you're my wife first, and my DI second! That's how it is, Bolly, whether you like it or not!"

"No, Gene, that's not 'how it is'!" She was waggling her fingers again and Gene grimaced. "It's completely-!"

"Would you stop?" Gene roared. "Stop waggling your bloody fingers at me and just consider that maybe I was scared when a ruddy great doll showed up, addressed to my wife, covered in baby's blood and-!"

"Were you?" Alex interrupted, her eyes snapping up to meet his. He paused, swallowing slightly as she asked again. "Were you scared?"

He hesitated, grimacing slightly. "If I say yes, will it shut you up?"

"I-!" She started to retort, then seemed to hesitate, as though his words were just sinking in. The corner of Alex's lip tugged up into a small, reluctant grin. "I can't make any promises," she said, her voice softer now. "But I'll try…"

He watched her for a moment, as though calculating whether or not he believed her, and just how difficult the admission would be. He took in the still red skin, the hair in disarray, and the patiently expectant expression on her features, before his eyes fell on her hands, now resting delicately on the small bump of her stomach, the bump that, by some inexplicable miracle, they had created together. His heart both swelled and clenched as a fierce rush of anger and fear swept through him, and a moment later, he sought out her eyes with his own, and nodded.

"Then yeah, Bolly," he murmured, voice cracking slightly. "I was bloody terrified."

* * *

"Then yeah, Bolly, I was bloody terrified."

It was as though someone had flicked a switch at the words, flipping her so suddenly from anger to fear that her knees almost gave way. The resentment burning in her eyes seemed to melt away, and a moment later she was sobbing, stumbling across the office towards him and falling against his chest, clinging to his familiar body with a desperation that shook her, that set her knees trembling and caused her entire body to quake. It was as though his admittance were the gateway to her own, and in that moment alone she understood why he had tried to protect her, why, however wrong he may have been on the subject, he had attempted to keep the truth from her. She was suddenly enveloped in a bubble, one filled with darkness and terror, and one in which the gentle pulse of her blood seemed amplified, the bump of her pregnancy acting like a megaphone, casting the sound of her unborn child's racing heart around her head until it pounded in her temples. She was surrounded by horror, and fear, and horrendous possibilities, and there was nobody there to share in it.

As though hearing her thoughts, Gene broke into her reverie, his voice acting as a smooth, warm balm against the torrent of pain ripping through her.

"I'm scared too, Bols," he mumbled the words underneath his breath, his face buried in her hair, warm breath tickling her ear, and she clung to him, to his solidarity and his strength.

"I know," she whispered softly, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she buried slender, trembling fingers in his dirty blonde hair. "At least we can be scared together."

* * *

**I was this close –makes small space between thumb and forefinger- to throwing in smut. I was. Honest… But no. They remain in an angsty bubble, just for now…. Or a long time… or whatever. We'll see how much I hate them tomorrow. **

**I haven't done the Gene/Alex interaction for FOREVER, so I really hope it was ok. Sorry it's so short, but it felt like an angsty chapter that should end sooner rather than later. **

**Hope you enjoyed.**

**Mage of the Heart**


	5. The Fate of Baby Jones

**I don't own this, so my smut bunnies are still hibernating.**

* * *

They stood there for what felt like an age, until Gene, still reeling from the whiskey and the torrent of emotions pounding through him, pulled back, holding Alex at arm's length as he regained his balance.

"Come on Bols," he said eventually, nodding towards his office. "Work to do."

Alex hesitated, looking at him with nervous apprehension, which Gene knew was echoed on his own face. He resolved his features, nodding determinedly. "Get yerself a cuppa, Bols," he murmured, stroking her cheek almost nervously, "or a hot water, or whatever it is you're rinsing the taps with."

"What are you doing?" Alex asked, her eyes almost accusatory, scanning him for the slightest hint of a lie.

"I'm gunna grab Ray," Gene said decisively, "and then I'm gunna ring WMP."

Alex's shoulders sank as she nodded, understanding in her expression. "For Baby Jones' files," she said softly beneath her breath.

Gene touched his hand to her chin, tilting her face towards his as he nodded. "We're gunna get 'em Bols," he assured her, "I'll break balls and twist titty's if I 'ave to, but we'll get 'em."

* * *

Ray was hovering in the canteen, staring at a magazine cover with scrutiny, when Gene entered. It was only when he was an arms breadth away that he caught sight of the cover itself – an image of an extravagant four tier cake, decorated with delicate twirls of icing, and emblazoned with large, purple, calligraphic writing, which read '20 Ways To His Heart, Through His Stomach'… despite himself, Gene felt overcome with mirth.

"If you're planning on joinin' the poofter parade, Ray, do it on yer own time; we've got work to do!"

Ray jumped, as though surprised, then turned apparently nervous, glancing from Gene to the magazine almost warily, before shaking his head. "No Guv, it's the writing; look at it!" He pushed it into Gene's hands, who frowned for only a moment before recognising the insistence of Ray's expression, and glancing down at it. A moment later, he blanched, as he recognised its significance.

"Where's this from?" He asked quickly, glancing at Ray only briefly before re-checking the lettering, knowing immediately that Ray was right as the letter slotted perfectly against the number '2' of the threat that seemed permanently imprinted on his brain.

Ray shrugged, pointing at the magazine again. "Says right there, Guv; The Morning Post."

Gene nodded, glancing at the small print in the bottom corner that confirmed this, before a feeling close to elation rose up. Rolling the newspaper up, he slapped it against his spare hand.

"If I weren't a happily married man with a fudge complex, Raymondo, I'd bloody kiss you!" Without a glance at Ray's uncomfortable expression, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Get yer arse into CID pronto, we've got scum to catch!" He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room with his long legs stretching out before him.

Ray, still baffled, shook his head. "Who's part of the poofter parade now?" He muttered under his breath, following Gene back to CID.

* * *

Gene realised, glancing down at the rolled up magazine in his hands, that he was yet to tell Alex the true depth of the threat they had received, and the idea of doing so made his head spin. Bad enough, he thought, that she now knew it was real blood, and a baby's at that, but how exactly was he supposed to tell her that she'd been threatened with a date – an exact date, that should only have been common knowledge to a few select individuals, many of whom were sworn to secrecy by a professional oath, and the others of whom were sworn simply to him... He knew exactly who he trusted the least, and had every intention of grilling each nurse, midwife and doctor known to have had contact with Alex in the last three months.

Pushing back into CID, he found Alex poring over a stack of newspapers, and frowned. "Bolly, I thought you were making a bloody brew?"

"I'm looking for Baby Jones," she answered, skimming each page swiftly and efficiently, before flipping onto the next. "A murdered baby, you'd expect it to be front page National News, but there's nothing Gene; not even a side-column, not even a mention of him! How can it have avoided publicity?"

"Same way as anything else, Bols," Gene said, pushing the magazine discreetly into his pocket, then moving over to stand behind her, one hand kneading the tight knot gathering at her shoulder. "Police probably put a veto on it until they had somethin' to say, an' by the time it was actually public information, only locals were interested."

"But it doesn't make sense!" She argued, shaking her head and flicking the paper back to the front, beginning her search afresh. "Surely somebody would have been interested? It can't have just been ignored like that!"

Gene shrugged non-commitally. "These journo's don't think straight Bols, course it doesn't make sense!"

"But, Gene-!"

"Look, Bols, it got covered, ok?" Gene was hesitant, wondering if he dared to say anything further, but knowing that he couldn't in good conscience withhold anything else from her. "Look," he ventured tentatively, "if you want to read up on 'im, Bolly – and I really mean 'if' mind, Bols… If you want to read up on 'im, Bronson's got a paper in 'is office…" He glanced at her, seeing her eyes flash at this small titbit of information. He sighed. "It's a huge story; front page. Birmingham paper, five pence a punt sort o' thing, but it's in there…" He trailed off for a moment, and then added, "but, before you go runnin' off to Boffins corner, there's somethin' I need to tell you..."

Alex eyed him warily, as though measuring him, assessing whether he had been keeping something further from her. He gulped, and then pulled out the chair to Alex's right, motioning for her to sit down before he told her everything; the box, the blood, the baby, and the note… Everything he knew, or suspected, he told her, and as he watched her face crumple, he hated himself all the more for doing so.

* * *

"How can they possibly know, Gene?" She whispered a while later, her trembling hands clenching and flexing with agitation and uncertainty. "How can they know my due date? It's confidential! It's illegal! It's- it's-!" She couldn't continue, staring into Gene's eyes with desperation. He nodded.

"I know, Bols," he said, clenching his jaw against the wave of anger that threatened to overcome him. "It's a fucking mess."

"What do we do?" She asked, her voice small and weak, filling Gene with the hopeless longing to take her into his arms and hold her, rock her, protect from anything and everything that might possibly hurt her… He knew he couldn't; not now, not here, not at work… With a firm resolution, he squeezed her hand, meeting her eyes with the illusion of certainty, even though he had never felt more off kilter.

"Everything, Alex," he answered, holding her gaze. "We do everything we can. Starting now."

* * *

The first thing he did was call down to Bronson and demand the newspaper – thankfully, the other man was happy to oblige, and promised to have it brought up within the hour.

Next, he called through to West Midlands Police, exchanged heated words with a terrified WPC, demanded to speak to the DCI in charge, and was eventually rewarded with an answer from the apparently disgruntled DCI Wilson.

"If this doesn't involve sex, murder or alcohol, I'm hanging up!" The other DCI's voice was gruff and to the point; immediately, Gene knew that this was a man he could respect.

"DCI Wilson?" Gene asked, the receiver tight against his ear as he spoke. "DCI Gene Hunt, Metropolitan Police. I need everything you've got on Baby Jones on my desk tomorrow morning."

* * *

After fifteen minutes of debate, Wilson agreed to have the files driven over by one of his own sergeants, and Gene felt accomplished as he set down the receiver, believing, as he did so, that they were finally getting somewhere.

A moment later, Ray arrived, holding a newspaper in his hand with such delicacy and trepidation, Gene didn't need to ask anything. He held out his hand directly, and Ray, apparently relieved, passed it over to him. With a jerk of his head, Ray was dismissed, and Gene took the time to assess the newspaper he had practically overlooked that morning.

The Birmingham Chronicle was small – perhaps thirty pages in total, including real estate and sports – and non-descript. It was the kind of paper you paid for on the train for something to read, but would otherwise overlook, and Gene puzzled over this for a brief moment, before returning to the task at hand.

The front-page headline was large and bold, written in black capitals which stretched across the entirety of the front page; beneath it was a picture, a sonogram dating back to December 2nd, with the name 'Alice Jones' written in small type on the top corner. The picture itself was clear enough that Gene could easily make out the shape of a baby, and his gut wrenched as his thoughts drifted to a similar image currently residing in Alex's purse… With a grimace, he poured himself a measure of whiskey, and sank into his chair with a resigned determination.

**THE VICIOUS FATE OF BABY JONES: REVEALED**

_Whilst the name of Baby Jones may at first be an anomaly to you, readers, it is certainly quite the opposite for the swarms of police officers currently serving in the West Midlands Police Service. For two weeks, the name, the story, and the truly horrendous trauma that has occurred, was given a courts injunction, wherein no journalist or reporter could legally release any statement in reference to it. As such, it may well have escaped your knowledge that, less than two weeks ago, a baby, formerly snatched from his cot in the Maternity Ward of Birmingham Children's Hospital mere minutes after he was born, and previously presumed kidnapped, re-appeared unexpectedly and unceremoniously, with fatal injuries that the police have described as 'vicious and pre-meditated'. _

_Bereaved mother, Alice Jones, spoke openly on the subject, explaining that, having resigned themselves to the fact that they would never see their young son again, both she and her husband, Gareth Jones, had been determined to continue on with their lives. "We told ourselves to carry on, focus on ourselves and all that we could be, instead of all that we lost. I tried to convince myself he'd found someone to love him… We were just trying to go back to normal – we'd locked the door to the nursery, we were going back to work, and we were just trying to be a normal married couple again; we were trying to do normal things again, like going for walks, and taking the bins out…"_

_And that, it transpired, was when the couple were brought back to reality with a fierce jolt. _

"_We were putting the bins out in the dumpster in time for the collection the next day – we'd been trying to decide what to do with our evening, how to distract ourselves from everything that was going on, when we found it…"_

_What, you might ask? 'It' turned out to be the mangled and sordid remains of their very own son, unrecognisable from the soft bundle of blue-cotton joy they had kissed in the maternity unit. In understandable denial, the horrified couple contacted the police, who took the entire dumpster away to forensics, and, less than twenty-four hours later, shared the terrible news that it was in fact their beloved Baby Jones, mutilated almost beyond recognition, with deliberate slashes to the arms and sternum._

"_We were heartbroken," Mrs Jones regales, tears streaming down her gaunt face as she speaks. "We'd spent so long planning for a baby- we'd spent 9 months being so excited, buying baby blankets, and baby-gro's, and nappy changing units… We'd circle names we liked in the newspaper, we'd spend evenings planning our first holiday; we were just another couple that wanted a baby! I don't know why they picked us!" _

_And 'picked' they certainly were, as Mrs Jones explains in detail on page 4._

Gene stopped for a moment, staring blankly at the sonogram, below which read the simple caption; '_Baby Jones, in his third trimester.'_ He was gripped with both revulsion and a compelling desire to continue, and so, sparing a brief glance towards Alex, who was now looking down at the photocopy of the threatening note, surrounded by Ray, Poirot, and a collection of women's magazines as high as her head – _guess she's done her profiling,_ he thought approvingly – he turned to page four.

"_We got a letter in the post; we'd only found out we were expecting a few days before - I'd been getting sick for a few weeks, and one morning I blacked out… Gareth was concerned I'd picked up a bug on our travels around Europe, so he drove me to the Hospital to get checked over, and they told us we were having a baby."_

_Mrs Jones' face lights up as she speaks, and it is clear that this news was not unwelcome. "We'd been hoping to have one, sooner or later, but what with our work commitments-" – Mrs Jones works as a primary school teacher, whilst Mr Jones is a lawyer at Hudson & Burkes – "-we hadn't expected it to happen so soon! We were thrilled, and we told everyone we knew – it was silly, and the doctors had warned us that sometimes waiting to share the news is the best course of action, but we were too excited!"_

_And who can blame them? The couple, (pictured left, at their country wedding in 1978) met at University some ten years ago, and began their fairy-tale romance almost immediately. "We'd met under an oak tree on campus- he'd been late for class and was cutting across the lawn, and I was reading a text book when he literally fell into my lap!" _Gene spared a glance at the photograph, and could almost immediately see why they, of all couples, might be victim to this sort of crime. Alice Jones was a striking beauty, with flaming red hair that tumbled around her delicately crafted face, sparkling green eyes, and a fine figure that tucked in at the waist and curved out around the hips. Gareth Jones was all lean muscle, with soft golden hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face that might have wandered out of a magazine, were it not for the shy, almost disbelieving smile on his features as he wrapped a possessive arm around his new wife's waist. With his mouth set in a grim line, Gene went back to the article.

"_We were inseparable throughout University; we graduated together, and he proposed after the ceremony. We got married, we worked, we travelled in our holidays – we hadn't been planning for a baby, and we were so shocked when it happened, but we'd always wanted a family!"_

_The couple, living in a quiet rural area just outside of Birmingham, were informed, mere hours after the elation of their son's birth, that he had gone missing; at the time, there was plenty of confusion, but continued assurances that the little boy would be found. It was only after 24 hours had passed that the Police were contacted, and the search for Baby Jones commenced. A few days after the investigation began, the leading Detective, DCI Wilson, was quoted by Mrs Jones herself as saying "the lack of evidence is overwhelming." When asked for further comment, Wilson declined, saying only "we [the police] are doing all we can."_

"_The letter we got after we found out," Mrs Jones continues, "well – we'd been expecting one to confirm our next appointment, but when it arrived, we didn't know what to think." The letter (pictured right) is clearly printed with the hospitals own letter-head, as might be expected from any professional organisation, and the message, clearly typed, as is standard practice, stating only the date of '11__th__ January 1984', was in red ink. In the weeks since the investigation began, forensic investigators have confirmed the 'ink' as unidentified blood. The date is confirmed as Mrs Jones due date, though the baby in question arrived two days earlier than expected. _

"_We obviously didn't know it was blood at that point – we didn't find out until after he went missing – we just shrugged it off; we were so elated at the news, we didn't even consider that it was out of the ordinary; it just seemed such a small thing. Gareth kept it with all of the other hospital letters, and we just filed it away. It was only after he went missing at the hospital that Gareth remembered it, and we showed it to the police."_

_This, it seems, was not the only letter that the couple received, though the significance went unnoticed at the time. A few weeks into the second trimester of the pregnancy, another, similarly typed letter arrived. This one, however, was not sent from the Hospital, but a local Post Office, and came in the form of a small, handmade card, congratulating the couple on the pregnancy, and expressing a fond excitement for meeting the new-born on the 11__th__ January. _

"_There was no signature, but I just assumed that whoever it was had forgotten to sign it – I've done that myself a few times! They'd written the envelope by hand, and I didn't give any thought to it. I just thought it was a friendly gesture."_

_Not so friendly, it would appear, since, upon commencement of the investigation, Mr Jones handed the aforementioned note to the police, who, once again, confirmed traces of blood in the red 'ink' used to address the envelope. _

"_I'm not a suspicious person," Mrs Jones insists; "it never crossed my mind to think that someone might send threats to a pregnant woman. I just assumed it was a well-wisher!"_

_Mr Jones, it would appear, harboured deeper reservations on the matter, but not quite deep enough to report the matter. He has, however, pledged full support to the police in the investigation, hugely distressing his wife, who has openly said that she feels let down by the service at large. "There are so many facilities available nowadays," Mrs Jones declares, "that we ought to have more answers than this. The police say there's no evidence, but there is – there must be! You can't just steal a baby, and kill a baby, and dump a baby, without leaving a trace! Surely that's impossible?"_

_Unfortunately, the West Midlands Police service has seen fit to suspend the case, until further enlightening evidence can be provided. Now, with the death of Baby Jones open to public knowledge, and the evident failure of the investigation, Mr and Mrs Jones are left praying for resolution._

* * *

Gene sat staring at the paper for some time, both overwhelmed at the reality of it all, and underwhelmed at the seemingly uninformative picture it painted. There were no further clues, no links between the Jones' and Alex, and all that Gene could safely say was that, if this was being carried out by the same operatives, they were obviously yet to develop a specific motif… And as for the couple themselves? Mrs Jones was spouting off like a crack-head with Tourette's, whilst Mr Jones seemed to have been almost entirely disregarded, without so much as a comment on his behalf. He wasn't a psychologist, by any stretch of the imagination, but something didn't add up…

He stood suddenly, pausing only to glance at the writing credits, before walking to the door of his office and barking to Ray in a sharp, commanding voice. "Raymondo, get the editor of the Birmingham Chronicle on the phone and find out who Daniel James is!"

Ray nodded, stubbing his cigarette out and stalking over to his desk with a look of intent. Poirot continued to peruse the newspapers before him, but Gene could feel Alex's eyes on him, and he met them silently, seeing the questions burning in her eyes, and knowing that there would never be a better time to show her. With a gruff sigh, he held his office door wide open and nodded her in.

* * *

She read it slowly, and deliberately, and Gene watched her with a growing impatience, pacing nervously back and forth as he clenched his jaw. When she finally lifted her head up to look at him, he breathed a sigh of relief, biting back a sarcastic comment as he noted the frown on her face to match his own.

"Does it seem a little… off?" Alex's voice was thoughtful and perturbed, and she glanced back at the paper with a look of focused intent.

"Like a lesbian in a condom factory, Bols," he growled, stalking around the desk and perching himself on it's corner, arms crossed as he looked down at the paper in front of her. "Any ideas?"

Alex shrugged, leaning back in her chair and tapping her fingers thoughtfully. "Well, maybe it's just the way it's written, but…" She shrugged again, tilting her head to the side and frowning in concentration. "She doesn't exactly come across as heartbroken, does she?"

"You mean she's like a parrot on speed?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow. "I did think that."

"Not even that," Alex said, shaking her head. "It's quite common for someone with PTSD to-!"

"English, Bols!" Gene interrupted loudly. Alex rolled her eyes, and then nodded.

"Sorry!" She said softly. "It's quite common for someone with _post-traumatic stress disorder_, to-!"

"What did I just say?" He cut in again, glowering at her. "If I wanted to 'ear Mandarin Bols, I'd 'ave hit up the chinky in Baker Street by now!"

Alex, clearly nearing the end of her tether, glowered at him just as darkly in return. "Fine! It's quite common for someone who has recently experienced an emotional trauma, to talk a lot! Would you like me to draw you a diagram, or does that clear things up for you?" Her sarcastic drawl drew him up short, and Gene bit back a remark as after a deep breath, she began to explain. "Sometimes talking helps; it's therapeutic, I suppose. Like when something happens and you just have to tell someone about it, because it's weighing on your mind so heavily. Do you know what I mean?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Can't say it's an experience I'm familiar with, Bols."

Despite herself, Alex's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "I imagine that's a fair summary…"

Gene shrugged. "So, she's blabbing, but it ain't a big deal… so, what _is_ the big deal?"

Alex frowned. "It just seems too upbeat… certainly too one-sided… why would you tell this much to a journalist a few weeks after finding your newborn son in a dumpster?" She stopped sharply, as though suddenly hearing the words, her eyes widening, swallowing hard as her hands flew to her stomach; her eyes closed, and Gene saw her begin to take in long, deep breaths. He resisted the instinctive urge to reach for her, to hold her hand and reassure her, even though everything in him was instructing him to do so.

"Come on Bollykecks," he said gruffly, face set in a grim line. "If you're gunna insist on being privy to this investigation, I'm gunna insist that you're in it, understood?"

Her eyes flew open, and a look of hurt was apparent on her features, but she met his eyes and, though Gene could not be sure what she found there, she calmed suddenly, her face relaxing; she nodded her head acceptingly and pulled the paper back towards her. Gene felt a brief rush of relief, and promised himself he'd apologise later.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Gene barked in response. "What?"

Ray opened the door, stepping in looking grim. "Just been chattin' to the bloke at Birmingham Chronicle, Guv," he said, shaking his head. "David James is a freelance writer - never written for 'em before, never written in any other newspapers apparently, but the Jones' sold him exclusive story rights…" With a nod at Alex, he added, "that's why nothin' was in those other papers, Ma'am; he sold 'em the exclusive dirt cheap fer cash, and their circulation went up. When they tried to contact 'im fer a follow up piece, he'd disappeared; not answering his phone, address was fake, an' nobody's heard a peep out of 'im since…"

"Good work Raymondo!" Gene answered, though his face was twisted into a frown as he spoke.

"I want to talk to Mr Jones," Alex suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed as she scanned through the newspaper again. "Something here just doesn't add up…"

"Fer once Bols, I'd have to agree with you," Gene answered. "Smells as fishy as a gone off trout with a yeast infection!"

Alex rolled her eyes, nodding to Ray. "Ray, find out the address for Hudson & Burkes law firm, then get hold of Gareth Jones' secretary and tell her to postpone all of his meetings after four o'clock." Ray nodded, withdrawing from the office, and immediately heading over to his desk.

Alex looked at Gene with a raised eyebrow. "So, does that sound agreeable to you, Guv?"

Gene smirked. "I'm as agreeable as a pig in shit, Bollykecks – and twice as dirty, as you well know." With a lascivious wink, he scooped up his keys and overcoat, and then nodded towards the door. "After you, Lady Bols," he murmured. Alex smirked, standing up and heading over to the door, well aware that Gene was watching her arse as she moved.

* * *

**This has been a particularly difficult chapter to write; I still love GALex, I still know exactly where I want this story to go, and how it will get there, but somehow the angry little protesters in my head are getting in the way. Really trying to fight them off, and really hoping that my ridiculous decision to rewatch series 3 this week will help as opposed to hinder!**

**All reviews appreciated, and I hope my responses sent last time - my internet connection has been faulty, and it's been cutting off/on unexpectedly at times, so I apologize if any of them did not reach you!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	6. At Hudson & Burkes

**I don't own this, but the smut bunnies are keeping warm over winter.**

* * *

The drive to Birmingham, though not long, in the grand scheme of things, seemed to drag on and on, with Gene tapping at the wheel impatiently whenever they had to pause for traffic. His foot pressed so hard on the accelerator at times, Alex wondered how on earth they managed to make it all of the way there without stalling, though she was glad for his impatience, as it helped distract her from the torrent of worry and analysis running through her brain.

_If you're gunna insist on being privy to this investigation, I'm gunna insist that you're in it, understood? _Gene's words ran through her head like a mantra, and she knew that he had been right to call her on it, knew that, if she were going to bite his head off for hiding the whole thing from her, she would have to pull her own weight, have to provide some sort of input that did not simply consist of oestrogen and tears. She also knew that, had she been anyone else, he'd have outright refused, however much she had screamed, to let her near the investigation. She didn't have to wonder how much it was costing him – she could tell from his entire demeanour that he was wrought with anxiety, knew that in letting her into the investigation, he'd also opened the floodgates of worry, and in doing so was probably imagining each and every potentially horrendous outcome with vivid clarity. She knew that, in denying the investigation to her, and denying the truth of the threat itself, he'd been protecting himself as much as he was protecting her – because, somehow, at some point or other that she could not quite put her finger on, Alex's pain had become his own.

"Stop thinking, Bollykecks," he broke her reverie with his gruff outburst, glancing over at her briefly before making a sharp left turn, observing the buildings on either side of the road. "I've got enough of a headache without listenin' to yer old cogs grindin' about." He took a right turn, just as Alex smiled to herself.

"I'll try," she promised, then sat forward slightly, pointing ahead of them. "There it is," she said, indicating the large white building, above which 'Hudson & Burke' was painted in dark blue, striking letters. Gene swung the car round to park, and Alex grabbed on to the door to brace herself.

"Gene, please remember that I'm pregnant, and that this bump is a baby not an airbag!" Her voice was slightly sharp, and Gene glanced over at her, eyes dropping to the bump in question.

"It's fine," Gene nodded, switching the ignition and opening the door. "Trust the Gene Genie, Bols; Sprog's gunna know 'ow to drive before he can walk."

* * *

"Oh yes, hello, I'm DI Drake, this is my colleague, DCI Hunt; we have an appointment with Gareth Jones?" Gene listened as Alex simpered politely to the receptionist, gritting his teeth impatiently.

"Oh, yes, Sarah did mention it…" the receptionist flipped through a book on her desk, then nodded. "Yes, twelfth floor – I'll phone through while you're on the way up and let him know you're coming."

"Thank you," Alex smiled, tucking her warrant card back in her pocket, and turning to find Gene already stalking towards the elevator, his long legs carrying him effortlessly. With a roll of her eyes, she followed him, joining him in the lift and resting her hand on his arm. Gene glanced down at it, briefly touching her fingers with his own. Their skin met for a few warm, brief moments, and then the lift beeped, the doors opening at the twelfth floor; Gene shoved his hands back into his pockets, and then stalked out into the reception area.

A young, blonde woman was walking past, carrying a stack of files, and she nodded at them, pointing her hand straight ahead. "Mr Jones is expecting you; he's first on your right."

Gene nodded, and Alex thanked her quietly, a step behind Gene as he moved swiftly towards the office door, and entered without knocking.

* * *

His first thought upon entering was that Gareth Jones was a slob; paperwork was piled high to the ceiling, old cups sat on cluttered surfaces, and a thin layer of dust covered the polished oak of the desk behind which he sat, wearing a dishevelled shirt, unkempt beard, mussed hair, and a crooked tie, the combination of which made him look as though he had neither slept nor washed for several days. Beneath his eyes were purple bags, almost bruises now, and his lips were chapped and bloody, as though neglected; gone was the good looking man from the wedding photograph – here was a man who had been battered and beaten, and was struggling to remain on his feet.

"DCI Hunt, DI Drake…" his slurred voice was gruff, a grating rumble that sounded strained, as though he had not spoken in several hours. Gene cast a glance towards the cups on the desk, and wondered exactly what the other man had been drinking, even as Gareth Jones stood up, stumbling slightly as he moved around the large desk, a hand held out in front of him. Gene shook it reluctantly, his eyes slightly narrowed as he swept the room with his eyes. From the looks of things, whatever work Gareth had been doing, it would not be of a standard suitable for anything except kindling. A sharp intake of breath caught Gene's attention, and his eyes snapped back to Gareth, whose expression was twisted with a mixture of pain and anger, eyes fixed firmly upon Alex's stomach; with a jolt, Gene realised their mistake, and as her eyes widened, he knew that she had too.

"Bugger, didn't think about that," Gene muttered, hand flying to the back of his head as he swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Don't suppose you'd believe me if I told yer she's just been eatin' too many doughnuts, would yer?"

Gareth seemed to blanche slightly, his already pale face draining of any semblance of colour before he shook himself, swallowing hard and appearing to bite back a wave of nausea as he held a trembling hand out to Alex; she shook it hesitantly and warily, her other hand protectively positioned against the bump of her pregnancy. "Sorry," Gareth said quietly, his eyes resting on her stomach for just a moment, before he tore his gaze away and turned sharply back towards his desk. Gene saw a flash of pain cross the other man's face, and he flinched.

"How can I help you?" Gareth asked, his voice slightly less gruff, though still edged with the fuzziness of alcohol, slightly slurred as he sat heavily back down. Gene glanced across at Alex, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable, and he grimaced.

"We're err- we're taking over the investigation," Gene said, swallowing slightly. "For Baby Jo-!" he stopped, eyebrows furrowing. "Fer yer son, I mean."

"William." Gareth said softly, and in his voice was a gentle caress, a warmth and adoration that lit his face for just the briefest of flashes, before it was replaced once again by a shadow, a pain that seemed to etch itself into every line of his face and which seemed to dull the lights of his eyes. "His name was William."

"It's a lovely name," Alex whispered softly, her voice delicate and gentle as she stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Gareth; I know that we can't begin to imagine how hard this has been for you, but I'm afraid we need your help."

"I already told everything I know to DCI Wilson," he answered, his voice pained. "I don't see what I can say now that's any different to-!"

"I'm afraid there's been a threat made," Alex explained softly. "A threat that links itself with William's investigation."

Gareth's face contorted into a grimace as he met Alex's eyes. "A threat? But- but how- how can they be linked? It-!"

"I'm afraid the details might be quite distressing," Alex said softly, her eyes never leaving his own. "But we're certain that the two cases are linked. We just need to ask you a few questions, to try and get the investigation afoot."

Gene watched as Gareth glanced from Alex, to her cradled stomach, to him, and back again, noting the tremble of the other man's lip as he nodded, then began to chew on the inside of his cheek. "What kind of questions?"

* * *

"How is your relationship with your wife, Gareth?" Alex's voice was soft, gentle, her eyes warm and sympathetic against his as she sat opposite him, her hands curled delicately around a china mug of hot water.

Gene, watching everything carefully and with a silence that was wholly uncharacteristic, saw, once again, a torturous flicker of emotion across Gareth's face.

"I understand it must be hard to talk about," Alex added softly. "But it's important that we understand how this has affected you."

Gareth nodded, ruffling his hair nervously as he glanced at his desk drawer. He hesitated, then glanced at Alex, and then Gene, and back to the drawer. "Do you mind if I-?" He pointed at the drawer, pulling it open and withdrawing a large cigar, his eyes questioning. Gene glanced at Alex, awaiting the seemingly inevitable lecture on the dangers of passive smoking, but finding himself surprised when Alex simply nodded, settling back in her chair as the other man lit the cigar and took a long, calming drag.

A few moments later, Gareth spoke. "It's not been great," he said softly, his voice slightly pained. He grimaced, then shook his head. "It's been shit, really."

"Can you explain?" Alex implored quietly, still cupping her drink in her hands.

He frowned, then shrugged his shoulders slightly. "We've been upset," he said, voice flat. "Well, I've been upset. And she- well… we deal with things differently."

"How so?"

He seemed hesitant for a few moments, and then proceeded to shrug again. "She lives in a bubble," he explained flatly. "She just carries on as normal; she gets up, she goes to work, she goes home, she does her yoga class… It's like- it's like she's forgotten he even existed."

"And you're struggling with that?" Alex said softly.

"Wouldn't you be?" He demanded, his eyebrows raised in question. "I wake up some mornings wanting the world to swallow me up so that I don't have to jump into this endless cycle of drink and cigarettes, while she fanny's around making jam tarts and asking if I'd like anything from the shops."

"Is it possible that she's dealing with it in that way?" Alex enquired, watching him attentively.

Gareth shook his head. "She isn't dealing with it," he said, wetting his lips with his tongue. "She acts like it never happened; she locked the nursery, threw away the key and began planning our next holiday."

"So she's in denial?" Alex asked, her question tentative.

Gareth laughed, a cold laugh that didn't reach his eyes and seemed to catch in his throat. "Oh she's not in denial. If I ask her about it, she just shrugs and says there's nothing we can do. She just-!" He shrugged, his eyes sad. "She cried for a few days – really cried, I mean. Then she spoke to that twat of a journalist from the Chronicle and suddenly she was better."

"You mean she stopped crying?" Alex queried, her face interested.

"I mean she suddenly thought everything had a reason, and that clearly we hadn't been meant to have a baby yet, so we should just carry on like it never happened." His voice was edged with anger and disgust, and a moment later he was puffing away on the cigar as though worried it might disappear from existence.

"And the journalist – David James, I believe? – did you speak to him?"

Gareth laughed dryly, shaking his head. "I told him I didn't want any journalists sniffing around us, that when we were ready to we'd make a comment to the appropriate members of the press… He buggered off, I went to work, and two days later I see that story in the paper."

"So she didn't tell you about the interview?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "She told me he'd given her three grand for the exclusive, and she splashed it on a trip to America."

"And how did you feel about that?" Alex asked, wetting her lips and setting her cup down on the desk.

Something flashed across Gareth's face, a painful anger that seemed to twist into the lines of his face, and for the briefest moment, Gene tensed, his body lifting a few inches from the chair as though expecting an attack. None came; instead, Gareth seemed to slump in his chair, his eyes glistening as he shook his head.

"I went absolutely mad," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I ripped up the tickets, threw a chair through the patio door… She couldn't understand why." He laughed slightly, shaking his head again. "She's a little like that; she doesn't think things through, doesn't consider the greater picture. She thought all we needed was a nice holiday to get ourselves back on track, that once we'd had some sun, sea and sand we could go back to normal." His lips were tight, his face nauseated; Gene had an overwhelming desire to shove a bucket under his face.

"How did your wife react to that?" Alex continued on, her face taking on the same sympathetically understanding expression she used on particularly aggrieved victims.

"She told me I should be more grateful," he said, smirking wryly, though it did not meet his eyes. "Said some people would kill for a chance to get away…" He shrugged, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I told her it was a poor choice of words, and I left to come here… I haven't seen her since."

"You haven't been home in two weeks?" Alex asked, surprised.

"I've been home," Gareth said. "I go when she's at work; we struggle to be in the same room as one another at the moment, so it works out for the best." He took another drag on his cigar, looking grey.

"So you haven't spoken since you left?"

He shrugged, reaching for the cup in front of him and swirling its contents thoughtfully. "Well, I called her a few times."

"And?" Alex enquired. "How was she?"

"She told me she was packing up the things for our holiday, and would I be joining her?" Gareth smirked. "I told her I'd be busy grieving my son's death, and she could call me when she remembered what that felt like."

Alex, apparently, was quite stunned by this turn of events, and did not take the opportunity to ask further questions. In their absence, Gene spoke up, his face twisted into a frown. "Guessin' she 'asn't called?" He asked dryly; in answer, Gareth grimaced and downed his drink, topping it up with whiskey from a bottle procured from his desk.

"Are you coping?" Alex asked, her voice soft. "It must be very difficult, coming off the back of such a painful event."

"How would you cope with losing your son, finding him in a dumpster, and then finding out you're incapable of spending time with your husband, DI Drake?" Gareth's voice was filled with venom and anger, and Gene's fingers flexed in anticipation. Alex shook her head at him, and he sat back slightly, though his eyes drove into Gareth's skull like daggers.

"I imagine I'd turn briefly to alcohol and cigarettes before seeking professional help," Alex answered, her voice light, chatty, and yet slightly accusatory. Gene smirked a little at her words, watching as Gareth flinched back a little.

"I don't need a shrink, DI Drake," the other man replied. "I need an exorcist."

There was a brief silence, wherein Gene glanced from Alex to Gareth expectantly. When nothing was forthcoming, he spoke up.

"Why didn't you call the Police when the threat arrived?"

Gareth grimaced, shaking his head slightly. "I've asked myself that question every day, and I tell myself exactly what I told DCI Wilson when he asked me; I had no way of knowing it meant anything – had no reason to even consider the possibility of a threat. When Alice told me I was being daft, I trusted her judgement…" He met Gene's eyes, looking pained and desolate. "I've regretted it ever since."

* * *

"So, Bols," Gene murmured, getting into the Quattro three quarters of an hour later. "What's the profile?"

"He's manically depressed, Gene," she answered, pulling her seatbelt on with a shake of her head.

"Yeah, well I didn't get the impression he was cock-a-hoop with the 'ole proceedings," Gene drawled, turning the key in the ignition and smirking with satisfaction as the engine roared into life.

"Drinking too much, smoking too much, not eating, certainly not showing too much regard for his own personal hygiene-!"

"Was that what that smell was?" Gene interrupted. "It stank like knob-rot on a paraplegic monk's ding-a-ling!"

"Delightful," Alex said dryly. "As I was saying… If he doesn't get help soon, I wouldn't be surprised if the next body in that dumpster is his."

"That bad, 'ey?" Gene asked, swerving the car out of their parking space and pressing his foot down, changing up a gear as they sped off down the street.

"You heard him, Gene," Alex answered. "He's so horrified by everything he's been through he's suggesting he's possessed by demons!"

Gene pouted thoughtfully. "Thought he was being ironic," he said plainly, turning the wheel sharply to the right.

"Be that as it may, he's completely unbalanced; I'm surprised DCI Wilson hasn't made some sort of arrangement with a social worker to ensure that the Jones' are being looked after; it's so important with cases like this, Gene, and I really do think that-!"

"DCI Wilson is an old-school copper," Gene answered with a growl. "One of very few; suffice it to say that he'll 'ave better things to worry about than some poncy poofter with a drinking problem."

"Have a little sympathy, Gene," Alex berated him, shaking his head. "He has just lost his child, and his wife appears to have sawdust where there ought to have been brain cells! Goodness knows how she ever got a job in teaching!"

"British Education Bolly," Gene answered. "If you can't do – teach."

"I don't think that really applies to Primary School teachers, Gene," she replied shaking her head.

Gene shrugged. "Maybe she never learned how to blow bubbles in 'er breaktime milk," he suggested. That caused Alex to laugh, and she shook her head again, before frowning, glancing over her shoulder and looking confused.

"Is this the way back to London?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together. "Have we gone the wrong way? I'm sure this isn't the way we -!"

"No it isn't, Bols," Gene answered, rolling his eyes. "And words cannot express how grateful I am to not be relying on your geographical expertise." He smirked playfully at her, then went on. "Once we decided to head up 'ere, I called ahead an' told DCI Wilson I'd pick up the files in person first thing tomorrow. Got us into a hotel – nothing swanky, last minute an' all, but it's got a bar an' a bed."

"A hotel?" Alex shook her head, surprised. "But- Gene, what about Fitz?"

"What about 'im?" Gene asked, lighting up a cigarette and winding the window down to allow the worst of the smoke out.

"He's been in the house all day! He'll need to get out, stretch his legs, go to the toilet, or-!"

"Alright Bollykecks keep yer knickers on," Gene interrupted, shaking his head. "I bunged Ray a tenner so 'e can buy 'im and his new bird a few drinks – he's gunna go round an' chuck some food in the daft buggers bowl."

"You'd trust Ray with a dog?" Alex asked, her voice disbelieving.

"I'd trust Ray Carling with my life, Alex," Gene answered immediately, then seemed to grimace, taking another drag on his cigarette before adding. "An' if you ever whisper a word of that in 'is direction, I'll be forced to tell all the lads at the station about your unexpected talents with a banana!"

Alex smiled, masking her surprise and simply moving to turn on the radio. Gene, apparently relieved that she did not press him any further on the matter, kept driving.

* * *

"Gene, if we're staying overnight, could we just pop to the shops- very quickly?"

Gene glanced over at her, glowering slightly. "What d'you need to shop for? They 'ave booze an' they 'ave food!"

"Do they have an underwear shop and a clean set of clothes for tomorrow?" She asked sarcastically, and Gene pouted slightly, turning back to the road for a brief moment before glancing over at her.

"Underwear?" He asked eventually, tone slightly suggestive. He saw a slight pink blush on her cheek, and he smirked. He hadn't dared to hope that anything would be on the cards – he'd been terrified to touch her the night before, scared he might hurt or break her in her already fragile state… But he wanted her; he always wanted her… And there was something about hotels that got him going; not that it took much….

"Well I saw a particularly fetching pair of maternity pants in Marks & Spencer the other day," Alex said teasingly. "Very practical – lots of coverage!"

"Don't you dare, Bols," he growled softly. "You come in wearin' anythin' resemblin' a parachute an' I'll be forced to throw 'em out the window an' see if they fly!"

She grinned, her hand reaching to stroke gently over his thigh. "Well, if anything's flying high tonight, Gene, I really hope it won't be my knickers…" With a suggestive look down at his lap, and a gentle trace of her fingers across his crotch, she pulled her hand back, leaving Gene gritting his teeth in an attempt to control himself.

* * *

He proceeded to smoke half a packet of cigarettes as he traipsed around after her through a maze of shops that caused his mind to boggle and his wallet to lighten considerably. Alex obtained two new dresses, three blouses, maternity trousers, and two rather bulging bags from an underwear boutique which she kept surreptitiously to herself. In a small interlude between shops, Gene conceded to buying himself a clean shirt, shaking off Alex's fashion advice and opting for a dark blue – he knew she approved, because she didn't argue when he set it on the till in front of the cashier.

When they finally reached the hotel, Gene's stomach was rumbling and he was reminded that he had not eaten anything at all since breakfast; he dumped their bags the moment they were shown to their room, not even allowing Alex a cursory glance round before pulling her in the direction of the restaurant.

"You know, it will still be there in ten minutes, Gene," she protested, sighing as he wove one arm around her waist and pulled her along beside him.

"So will the room," he argued. "An' I'll enjoy it much more on a full stomach an' a bottle o' plonk."

* * *

After dinner, feeling pleasantly full and slightly tipsy, Gene let Alex lead him back to the room, her far too sober arse wiggling ahead of him delectably as they rounded the corridor. She opened the door, stepping in ahead of him, and Gene followed, pulling her into his arms, her back flush against his chest as he pressed tender kisses into her neck. He felt her tremble a little, felt her knees weaken ever so slightly before she turned in his arms, her hands on either side of his face as she took his lips gently with her own. Gene responded hungrily, pulling her closer, his hands tight on her waist, mouth warm and hard against her own as his body responded to her closeness. She answered his hunger with equal fervour and tangled her hands in his short hair, pulling him closer like a woman starved of water. Christ, Gene thought, it hadn't been that long had it? So much had happened between them in the meantime that it felt like weeks had passed, was hard to believe that they'd made love only yesterday morning… Had it really only been a day? He shrugged inwardly, hands slipping under her shirt, briefly caressing the smooth warmth of her back before lifting the item over her head. His mouth fell to her neck and her lace-covered breasts as he discarded the shirt on the floor, reaching for her trousers and unbuttoning them swiftly. His fingers were soft, a light touch against her flesh as he teased and tickled them down her spine, then slipped them under the waistband, pushing the trousers down her hips as he ran his hands over the delicate lace of her underwear.

"They were going to be new…" Alex whispered softly in his ear, almost giggling as she swiftly kicked off her boots and wriggled out of her trousers.

"Bugger it, Bols," Gene murmured, eyes sweeping appreciatively over the red lace. "Prefer you out of 'em, anyway." As if to prove the point, he moved his hands to her chest, mouth falling to the curve of her breasts as his hands found the front of her bra, pulling swiftly and hearing a satisfying rip as her breasts tumbled out for him. Smirking, he moved his attentions back to her neck, tongue and teeth teasing at her soft flesh as the torn garment slipped from her arms.

"You know, there was a clasp on the back…" Alex's voice was teasing, and he smirked, hands on her breasts as he deftly teased her nipples into peaks.

"Must've forgotten, Bols," he murmured. "Tit's do that to a bloke…"

Alex smiled despite herself, pulling his mouth back to hers as she delicately loosened his tie, dropping it to the floor at her side before moving her hands to his shirt. He kissed her, softly now, guiding her towards the bed until her knees hit the mattress and she sat back, smiling as she pulled his shirt free from his trousers. He shrugged out of it without encouragement, and then lifted her gently, setting her in the middle of the bed and covering her body with his, mouth moving softly from her neck to her breasts, to her stomach, to her thighs, over the delicate lace of her underwear.

"These need to come off an 'all," he growled softly, fingers hooking beneath the lace band. "Lift yer arse, Bols!"

"So romantic," she sighed sarcastically, but she acquiesced immediately, lifting herself slightly off the bed and allowing Gene to slide the red lace knickers down her without further objection.

"Not 'ere to romance yer," Gene answered, lifting one of her legs and hooking it over his shoulder. "'ere to shag yer brains out." Before she could respond, he had buried his face between her thighs, his tongue gently flicking out to tease at her flesh, touching her expertly, brushing her clit with just the right amount of pressure… Alex sighed softly, her hands tight in his hair, and Gene growled in his throat, the vibrations of sound causing Alex to shiver with pleasure. He smirked smugly against her, slipping a finger into her tight, wet heat before gently grazing her clit with his teeth, pumping his fingers into her and feeling her contract around him.

"Gene…" his name was a soft, pleasured sigh on her lips, and he delighted in it, working his hand slightly faster, applying more pressure to her clit, hearing the soft sighs and gasps that escaped her, and revelling in the trembling of her limbs as he worked her expertly to the edge, leaving her just on the brink as he pulled his mouth away.

Alex looked at him in shock and disappointment, her hair slightly mussed and her skin tinged pink, and Gene couldn't help the smug smirk that lightened his features.

"Don't worry, Bols," he murmured, grinning down at her as he made swift work of his trousers and boots, kicking them off to the side before positioning himself above her. "I've got somethin' 'ere you'll like even better than the old tongue sandwich…" He wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously, pressing his hips against her own and letting her feel his erection, teasing her briefly as he rubbed the tip against her entrance.

Alex let out a soft whimper in response, eagerly pushing her hips into his, and Gene groaned softly. He looked her over for a moment, at the curves he knew every inch of, at the gentle roundness of her stomach, the creamy colour of her skin. He felt his breath catch in his throat and found her eyes with his own, swallowing slightly, holding her gaze, seeing all of his own feelings of wonder and adoration reflected back at him… A moment later he was kissing her, buried in her, had her wrapped around him like a blanket. She was moving against him with a gentle urgency that echoed his own, pushing her hips into his as her head flew back in pleasure. Gene couldn't think, could barely breathe, aware only of the sensation of her body around his, and of the intensity of emotion that flooded him at the sight of her here, beneath him, trusting him, loving him…

* * *

It was a while later, and both of them were still short of breath, Alex's limbs still trembling from the quaking intensity of her orgasm as Gene's eyes had drilled into her own. When it was over, he had gathered her into his arms like fragile glass, his hold gentle and yet firm, promising all of the things that he could not seem to articulate into words – protection, solidarity, stability... Alex leaned into him with gratitude, turning her head to press her lips against his neck.

"I'm still angry at you, you know?" she whispered softly, her finger stroking delicate patterns in his arm. "For not telling me… I'm still angry."

Gene's grip on her tightened perceptibly, his lips pressing into her forehead as he nodded curtly. "I know, Alex," he answered, voice barely more than a breath of air against her skin. "I'm still not sorry, though."

She smiled, closing her eyes and inhaling his scent deeply. "I know, Gene."

A few minutes passed, minutes of comforting silence as Gene's lips rested gently against her head, before he spoke, voice slightly teasing.

"Know you're angry, Bols," he murmured, teasing the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, causing her to shiver slightly. "But can we still go fer round two?"

Alex's answering giggle was all the encouragement he needed.

* * *

"_I still don't understand!" The man's voice was rough, agitated, and slightly high pitched as he paced back and forth, eyes wide as he looked at his companion for explanation. "Why them? _Her_ I understand! She's lovely – she's perfect! But _him_? He looks as though someone ran a grater over his face with all those lines!"_

_The woman shook her head, carefully sealing the envelope in her hands before she answered._

"_She's perfect; she's beautiful," she agreed, nodding her head slowly and deliberately. "But _him_…" Her voice was almost reverent, admiring as she went on. "He's commanding; he's strong…"_

"_But of all the couples in the world, you-!"_

"_You chose the Jones', and look at the pathetic little mess they produced!" She was spitting, her face suddenly contorted with rage, and he shied away, slightly cowed. _

"_The Jones' were perfect," he said softly, "we were just unlucky, we-!"_

"_Gareth Jones is a pathetic excuse for a man!" She snapped. "He's weak, and he's useless, just like his baby. We won't go wrong this time!"_

"_But-!"_

"_No buts!" She argued. "This time, we'll get it right!"_

"_But they're the Police!" He whined in protest. "What if they find us, what if they-?"_

"_Of course, they'll find us eventually," she said, smiling wickedly. "But not until we want them to!" _

* * *

**I'm sorry… Once I gave them sex, I needed angst. **

**Hope it was ok.**

**Mage of the Heart**


	7. DCI Wilson

**I don't own this, but I will claim adoptive privileges for the smut bunnies.**

* * *

Gene awoke to an empty bed, and the distant sound of a shower running. His arm, which had been reaching out for Alex's elusive body, stilled, resting against the warm imprint that her body had left upon the mattress; from the heat, he guessed that she had only just slipped out, was probably only just stepping beneath the sheets of water at that moment, allowing the warm liquid to slide over her body, running through her hair and in rivulets down her back as-

He grunted, shifting uncomfortably as the images in his head transmuted into arousal, and he was struck between the reluctant desire to leave the bed, and the somewhat insistent desire to bury himself in a wet, soapy, willing woman… It didn't take long to decide between the two, and he was out of the bed in seconds, rubbing his eyes briefly as he headed towards the bathroom. He tripped slightly, ankle caught in the handle of one of the many bags of shopping Alex had acquired yesterday afternoon, and he paused, eyes caught by the bulging bags from the underwear boutique, which she had been careful to keep from his view. He hesitated, glancing towards the bathroom door, where Alex was surely naked, and singing an ear-splittingly bad rendition of Spandau Ballets 'Gold', and then back to the bags… A split second later, his decision made, he had upturned the contents of the bags on the bed, and was met with a cacophony of colours, materials and barely-there scraps that apparently served as underwear to the not-so-reserved population of women. After thirty seconds of deliberation, he selected the most attractive - and conversely, the sluttiest - looking set available, shoved the rest back in the bag, and quietly slipped into the bathroom.

Alex's horrific singing drowned out the slight creek of the door hinge, and Gene chuckled smugly to himself as he scooped up the outfit Alex had carefully selected for herself, replacing it swiftly with his own wardrobe choice, and scooting back from the room with a grin.

* * *

The singing stopped suddenly, and Gene imagined the look of amused consternation on Alex's face, before lying comfortably back on the bed, stark naked except for the sheet he had half-heartedly pulled up over himself. After a few minutes of resting with his eyes closed, quietly imagining several of the scenarios he might bend her into if she wasn't too pissed off at him, he heard the door opening, and his eyes snapped open immediately, anticipation thrumming through him as she turned the corner, her eyebrows raised and hands on her hips as Gene wet his lips with his tongue, sitting up slightly straighter as he drank her in with his eyes.

She'd gone the whole hog, donning the stockings, suspenders and barely-there bra like some kind of porn star. The black silk bra – if you could call it that – consisted of two cups, slashed down the middle and reattached using vivid red ties, giving a welcome peek of her erect nipples, made more prominent by her posture. The knickers were more like string, attached to a simple and tiny triangle of black silk that barely covered anything, and set Gene's blood boiling with lust. He had to shake his head slightly, still surprised that she would have picked something quite so slutty without any of his input.

"You know, Gene, I was hoping to make it down to breakfast…" her voice was teasing, and he smirked, recovering just enough to respond.

"I've got room service, Bols," he answered, his voice slightly husky. "They do a great breakfast sausage, so I've heard."

Alex's eyes drifted down to his lap, to the tented sheet that abandoned all pretence of modesty, and the sight of which sent desire pooling into her non-existent knickers.

"So I see," she said softly, licking her lips suggestively. "Does it come with sauce, or do you think I'll need to bring my own?"

Gene chuckled, tugging the sheet off him and dropping it to the side of the bed. "More sauce the better, Alex, in my experience; and if you've got a nice bun to shove it in, I think we'll be set for the day…" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively; a moment later she was crawling towards him, breasts swathed in silk and jiggling delightfully with her movements as she kissed and licked up his leg, starting at the hollow of his ankle, nipping her teeth at the flesh beneath his calf muscle, finding the soft, tender crook of his knee and causing him to groan softly, before moving swiftly upwards and taking him into her mouth. A slight whimper left Gene's throat, his hands on the back of her head as he guided her gently over him, eyes closed and breath coming short. Her tongue teased at his tip, flicking expertly against the spots she knew turned him on the most, and he was soon a trembling wreck, dragging her mouth away from him and tugging her up the bed and onto his lap so that she straddled him, the heat of her teasing against him as he struggled to control himself.

"Blimey, Bols," he groaned, hands smoothing over her waist, hips, then up to her breasts, thumbing the hard peaks of her nipples and eliciting a soft moan from her lips. "Didn't realise we were going fer the full English spread…"

"I can spread a little wider if you like?" Alex's response was instant and witty as she –true to word- moved her legs further apart, and if Gene hadn't been fighting back an urge to release all over her delectably slutty ensemble, he might have considered the fact that his own filthy mind had rubbed off on her. As it was, he could only groan, grabbing her hips forcefully and grinding his hips against hers. She whimpered, enjoying the sensation of the silk underwear rubbing against her, but wishing simultaneously to remove it, to take him inside her… The look in Gene's eyes was pure lust and desire, and in a second she had lifted her hips, hooking her fingers in and pulling aside the scrap of material that covered her; his eyes blazed, mouth opened, and a moment later she had slid onto him, was riding him with abandon, was crashing into oblivion…

* * *

An hour later, Gene was spent, lying across Alex's back, still buried inside her, having twisted her around and bent her over in a lust-driven haze. She hadn't complained, spurring him on with moans and sighs, and shouts of pleasure, and now he could barely move, could barely bring himself to think…

"Gene…" her voice was soft, sultry, and filled with a delightful just-shagged huskiness, that caused him to twitch slightly in spite of himself.

"Yeah…?" The word was more of a grunt, and she laughed softly, shifting her hips slightly against his; with great reluctance, Gene rolled off her, lying flat on his back across the bed with a soft sigh.

"I think I need another shower…"

* * *

After a shower and a rushed breakfast, they sped across town towards the Police Station, Gene driving confidently and assuredly without direction. He pulled up sharply, parking in a reserved space in spite of Alex's protests to the contrary.

"Gene, this isn't your station, you can't just storm in like a bull in a china shop and expect to get your way! This space is reserved!"

Gene shrugged, removing the key from the ignition and opening the door resolutely. "S'ok Bols; be in an' out of 'ere quicker than a Paki at a Ku Klux Klan reunion!"

"You really need to stop saying-!" She was cut off, as Gene had already stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. With a huff of indignation, she followed, closing the door with slightly more force than necessary. Gene's dark glower at her treatment of his car did nothing to dissuade her as she followed after him.

"You know, someday not far from now, people like _me_ will be arresting people like _you_ for racist slander, and it will serve you right! Do you know there's a whole segment of society that-?"

"You thinking of arresting me, Bols?" Gene stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her as he lit up a cigarette, his eyes travelling up the length of her body. The heat of his gaze turned her legs to jelly, reminding her immediately of the intensity of their love making that morning, and Alex shivered slightly, forgetting her argument as her cheeks tinged pink.

"Of course not, but-!"

"'cause I've got handcuffs if yer feelin' frisky?" His eyes were laughing, although there was a familiar glint in their depths, and Alex had to take a deep, calming breath. Taking advantage of her silence, Gene strode forward, his long legs eating up the space between them in two steps, and then he was behind her, not quite touching as his mouth descended to her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "You can truss me up an' fondle the truncheon later, Bollykecks," he said softly, his voice full of promise.

Alex whimpered slightly, knees trembling, and Gene's chuckle reverberated deep in his chest as he gripped her waist gently, mouth soft against the shell of her ear. "Later!" he repeated, grinning. "Come on Bols; work to do!" With a soft slap to her arse, he walked away.

* * *

Gene led the way into West Midlands CID, Alex close on his heels and noting the uniform layout of the office; the separate room, labelled DCI Eric Wilson, was shuttered off, the door closed uninvitingly. The rest of the office was almost identical to theirs back in Fenchurch East, each desk occupied by detectives of varying rank, all currently poring over case files or on the phone chasing up leads. Gene said nothing, ignoring the wary glance of the DI and making his way straight to Wilson's office; he banged on the door, hard, despite the indignant protests from the detectives who were now on their feet, demanding identification from them both.

"Bugger off, I'm sleeping!" Came the response from inside the office; Gene smirked, and let himself in without another word.

* * *

"Frank, what the bloody hell have I told you about-?" The man in the chair stopped as his eyes fell upon Gene, clearly realising that he was not Frank, and puzzling for a moment as to what this stranger was doing in his office. The thought seemed to halt him for a few seconds, before his eyes fell upon Alex, and the protective way in which she cradled her stomach, and a moment later Wilson was on his feet, a slight grimace on his features as he nodded in greeting.

"DCI Hunt, I presume?" He asked, holding out his hand for Gene to shake; he did so willingly, feeling an immediate liking for the other man, whose carefully measured gaze was assessing Gene silently, in the exact same manner that Gene was now assessing him.

DCI Wilson was perhaps a few years older than Gene; several inches shorter, and with thinner, greyer hair, he looked a little worse for it, but there was a spark in his eyes and a sharpness to his demeanour that commanded immediate respect. He might have been good looking, once upon a time, but years on the beat appeared to have moulded his face into a serious, slightly threatening mask. His nose was slightly crooked, bent in the wrong places, and looking for all the world as though it had probably been broken and, on more than one occasion, left to heal without being properly set. If anything, it suited him all the more, and his thin lips, set in a hard line, said more in silence than words ever could; here was a man who gave as good as he got, who broke the rules in order to uphold the law - Gene liked him on sight.

"DCI Wilson," he nodded, meeting the other man's green eyes without a smile, knowing full well that smiles had no place here. "This is DI Alex Drake," he introduced Alex with a jerk of the head, stepping aside to allow the two of them to shake hands. He watched with interest to see how the other DCI responded to Alex, and was appeased. Wilson shook Alex's hand firmly, evidently calculating her on the strength of her handshake and the hold of her gaze, and nodding respectfully when Alex introduced herself with the same ballsy confidence that had knocked Gene's socks off.

"Thank you for agreeing to see us," Alex said firmly, dropping the DCI's hand but remaining confidently in place. Gene felt a proud smirk tugging at his lips, then nodded his agreement.

"Sorry to change the plans at short notice; needed to 'ave a word with old soppy-bollocks Jones before 'e chucked 'imself out of a window." Gene's voice was gruff, but to the point, and DCI Wilson smirked.

"Did you find him to be as much of a useless twat as I did, or were there unplumbed depths hidden beneath his misery?"

Gene smirked at the sarcasm in the other man's voice. "Bit of a wet-blanket," he answered, "an' about as useful as a shit-flavoured lollipop, but we got what we came for… Eventually."

"Well he was grieving the death of his child and the breakdown of his marriage," Alex cut in, her voice the same smart, sassy tone she always used, "both of which are fairly extreme situations to be in, so I suppose he could be forgiven for displaying some signs of emotional trauma!" Gene saw Wilson's eyebrows fly up his forehead by an inch or so, and he suppressed a laugh.

"You get used to her," he promised the other DCI, smirking slightly. "Believe it or not, she can actually tell her arse from 'er elbow most of the time." Without waiting for Alex's cocky response – which he knew was on the tip of her tongue, even without her turning her face towards him in indignation – he nodded to the desk, on top of which was a relatively new looking file, set aside from the other paperwork and placed in a position of importance. "That the porker?"

Wilson nodded, moving around his desk to pick up the file, and setting it in front of him before indicating the chairs opposite. "Have a seat, why don't you, and I'll go through it with you." He drew a bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer, along with two glasses. "Care for a drink?" He was evidently obeying the laws of chivalry, aiming his question at Alex first of all, who declined.

"It's a little early in the day for me," she said politely, not bothering to add that, even if it weren't only ten in the morning, she would not be drinking in her current condition.

"That's a shame," Wilson said, pouring a generous measure and offering it to Gene, who took it gratefully. "I find a scotch before breakfast is just the ticket to getting the engine running smoothly."

* * *

Wilson talked them through the file with confidence and a thoroughness that even Alex couldn't fault; he seemed to know the case back to front, had read through each statement, knew all of the evidence, and appeared to have calculated everything in the investigation accordingly. Alex was both impressed and disheartened; she had been blindly hoping that they would pick up on a clue that Wilson had deemed insignificant and be able to solve the mystery by dinnertime.

"So what's the verdict on Alice Jones?" Gene asked, casting his eyes over her statements and glancing at Wilson thoughtfully. "She came across like a daft floozy with Tourette's in the Chronicle, and soppy-balls was about as complimentary as a prozzie at a white wedding."

Wilson nodded, sipping his whiskey and indicating the paper in Gene's hands. "She's got the brains of a scarecrow and the tits of a porn star; easy on the eye, good with the kids, from what I gather, but about as thick as pig-shit when it comes to anything more than times tables."

"She upset?"

"Initially; tears, mood swings, shouting… Punched me in the gob a few times… Jones always managed to calm her down - back then they seemed a well matched couple." Wilson shrugged his shoulders, and then lit up a cigarette. "Then that article came out – she was all acceptance and understanding, started booking holidays left right and centre, and called me to tell me that while the Police had let her down, she didn't blame me personally… He just disappeared into his office and got pissed."

Gene nodded, "Can't really blame the bastard. Especially not when he's married to a schizophrenic tart…"

Wilsons chuckle was soft, and then he ruffled through the papers in front of him, carefully finding a particularly dense selection and passing it over. "This is what you'll really be interested in," he said, allowing Gene to take the papers from his hand. "Forensic reports on the letter, the card, and on Baby Jones' – fairly inconclusive, but you'll see for yourself, it's clearly not your average punk engaging in a spot of kidnapping."

Gene nodded, flicking through the papers swiftly. "The blood on the notes- any hits?"

"None at all, though that doesn't mean anything – there's always baby-napping going on these days, trouble is that most of the time, there's no record of their DNA when they're taken; Baby Jones was a unique case on that front."

"Spoken to any of the other parents?" Gene asked, grimacing slightly.

"All of the local ones from the last 6 months, but none of them had threats like this – didn't fit the motif." Wilson's face was grim, and Gene was certain the other man had spent many a night drowning his sorrows for these particular cases in a bottle not dissimilar to the one currently on his desk.

"Not worth chasing up?" Gene continued, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "They might have started without any threats at all."

"No, Gene," Alex shook her head, speaking up for the first time in several minutes as she nodded at the piece of paper that she was holding. "I've been thinking about this – about why someone would bother to tell you that they wanted your child, without making some sort of ransom demand or such like…"

"And?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Alex asked, glancing at the two men in surprise. Both of them returned her look with one of befuddlement, and she sighed before carrying on. "The 'threats'-" Gene grimaced as she wiggled her fingers. "- that the Jones' received, aren't threats; they're more like notifications! The second one – well, the second one even says how much they're looking forward to meeting the baby."

"They're written in blood, DI Drake," Wilson drawled, his eyebrow cocked. "I don't know about you but I find a certain menace in birthday cards written in blood!"

"Well of course there's menace involved!" Alex snapped. "And I can assure you I take receiving blood in the mail very seriously -!" Gene saw Wilson flinch almost guiltily at this, apparently reminded of the situation as he watched Alex. "- but what I mean is, there are plenty of babies around that could be plucked and stolen without too much hassle; unwanted pregnancy rates are sky-high, children's homes are fit to bursting… you could steal a baby in the street if you planned it carefully enough… So why would you bother to sit around and wait for another child to be born, rather than take the easy route?" She was looking at them expectantly again, but neither of them seemed to react, other than to frown a little deeper.

"Oh please!" She said, glancing at Gene with her hands on her belly, her eyebrows raised. "You must have some kind of idea?"

Gene looked at her blankly, and she sighed her frustration.

"If someone wants a child, they can't just click their fingers and make one appear!" Alex explained. "It takes 9 months – 9 months of waiting, preparing, planning, choosing names, bonding with the foetus!"

Wilson's eyes glinted understanding, and he nodded. "The pregnancy's important to them…"

"Not just important," Alex went on, on a roll now as she stood up and began pacing. "It's paramount; they need to feel as though they're involved in the pregnancy, in order to stand a chance of bonding with the child. And that's important, because- because-!"

"Bolly," Gene's voice was level, slightly gruff, and pained. "Bolly, they killed 'im; no bonding involved, they just killed 'im – they didn't-!"

"Give me the file!" Alex snapped, shaking her head adamantly. "Baby Jones' post mortem, Gene, give it to me!"

"Alex, I -!"

"Gene!" Her eyes flashed angrily, and Gene grimaced, passing the papers over reluctantly, whilst Wilson watched on uncomfortably. There were several long, painful moments, where Alex scanned through the file swiftly and efficiently. Gene waited for her to crumple, for her to suddenly be reminded of the brutality they were being faced with; instead, her face lit up triumphantly, and both Gene and Wilson exchanged a look of confusion as she slapped her hand down on the paper, smiling to herself.

"He was healthy!" She said, pointing at a particular segment of the report. "He was a healthy size and weight, he wasn't malnourished or emaciated, or showing any signs of mistreatment!"

"Hate to be a stickler, Bollykecks, but you don't get much more unhealthy than 'dead'!" Gene's drawl was sarcastic, but it was laced with sincerity, a genuine plea for her to understand.

"No, Gene, you're missing the point!" Alex said, shaking her head and turning to Wilson, who appeared reluctant to involve himself in the discussion, but listened to Alex's questions patiently. "Baby Jones went missing on the day he was born, yes?" She looked at the paper in her hands and nodded, "so that was on the fifteenth January… But he wasn't found by his parents until the second of February, and from the post mortem, he'd died literally within a few hours of being found!"

"So?" Wilson's voice was interested, and he sat forward slightly, his eyes approving as he watched Alex.

"So, he was missing and alive for two weeks; he'd been being fed and looked after!"

"I don't think being looked after involves getting bled dry and chucked into a dumpster," Gene replied, face grim.

"No, Gene, but don't you see – something must have happened, something must have-!" She paused for a moment, reading, and then nodded. "Croup!"

"What?" Wilson and Gene responded as one, and Alex rolled her eyes, pointing to something in the file.

"Croup!" Alex repeated. "Here, look – the stomach contents was normal, nothing untoward, but there was some inflammation of the larynx!" She looked at them both with a relief and excitement in her gaze, glancing from one face to the other, before adding, "Infection in the throat; it's quite common among children of a few weeks old, and it's treatable, if you seek medical attention, but of course, if you've kidnapped a child you can't very well waltz into A&E with him..."

"So you're saying he died of an infection?" Wilson frowned. "But the post mortem-!"

"No, he didn't die from it!" Alex said, shaking her head. "But if it came across as a shortness of breath, or difficulty breathing, they may have assumed that he was heading that way and-!"

"Put him out of his misery?" Gene asked, voice sardonic. "What a bloody great blessing!"

"Gene, I'm not saying that it makes it any better!" Alex insisted, shaking her head. "But it does mean that there was more to this than just violence – there was a genuine parental instinct, at least initially! It means that they didn't just steal him to kill him – they wanted to look after him!"

Gene was about to respond, but he stopped himself, noting in that moment the desperate relief on Alex's face, and knowing immediately what she was really trying to tell him, what she might have said if Wilson were not sat opposite them, observing every exchange and absorbing every detail…

"Alex," he murmured, his face softening, "I know what yer thinkin', but-!"

"But Gene, don't you see? It makes sense!"

"I know, Bols," he said, voice pained. "But it's not-!"

"Keep your head in the game, DI Drake," it was Wilson who cut in, his voice sharp and authoritative. Alex looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head. "They might not have wanted to kill Baby Jones initially, but they did. And then they sent you a box full of his blood; whoever's threatening you and your child, and whatever motive they have for doing so, they aren't your friend." He held her eyes for just a moment, sincere sympathy in his gaze, and then stood up, moving around his desk and towards the door. "I'll give you two a minute."

Without another word, he stepped out into CID.

* * *

Gene, overcome with gratitude to Wilson, and yet unable to find any words to follow, could only stand up, gathering Alex into his arms in silence and pressing his lips gently to her forehead as she shook her head gently.

"Gene, I really don't think they're trying to hurt our baby… They're trying to adopt it, to steal it, but-!"

"Bols," Gene murmured, "you need to listen ter what you're sayin'. You got sent a doll covered in slashes and blood; that isn't a polite request to borrow yer baby, Alex – that's a threat."

"But maybe it's not! Maybe it's more of a warning, maybe they don't want our baby to end up like him, maybe it's-!"

"Listen to me, Alex!" Gene's voice was gruff, serious, and raw, and he forced her to look him in the eye as he went on. "Whatever game this is, we ain't playin'; understand?"

"But-!"

"No buts!" He growled back, fingers tightening slightly on her chin. "I need you in this investigation as my DI, an' if you can't do that, I'll take you off it. It's a bastard thing to say, and I'm an even bigger bastard fer sayin' it to yer, but it's the truth. Got that?"

"Yes, but-!"

"I mean it, Alex!" He growled, his eyes blazing. "If it wasn't your baby, an' it wasn't you gettin' the threats, would you really be sittin' 'ere tellin' me you thought the baby wasn't in any bloody danger?"

Alex opened her mouth to retort, and then closed it, her eyes glistening as she suddenly averted her gaze and bit her lip.

"Alex…" Gene's voice was softer now, imploring, and his hand stroked gently through her hair as he shook his head slowly. "Alex, I need you in this with me…" He tilted her head towards his once more, his forehead pressed against hers and his breath warm on her face as he closed his eyes. "I need you."

* * *

After their meeting with DCI Wilson, they had headed back to London, and Gene had sensed Alex's uncertainty, her discomfort and her fear. He had attempted to displace it, talking to her, joking with her, tuning the radio to Nancy-Sodding-FM in an effort to elicit a smile from her… Nothing had worked.

Now, several hours later, after a gentle lovemaking that had made Gene's head spin, he lay stroking her hair, feeling her finally relax into his arms and inhaling the scent of her greedily. Her hands danced lazily over his spine, and his own hand splayed protectively against her stomach, covering it as best he could. He thought back over the last three days, considered the arrival of the threat, the devastation it had caused, and all of the emotions that he had witnessed on Alex's face in the meantime, and he was struck with fear, for her and for their unborn child. His imagination – vivid and stark after a lifetime witnessing some of the most horrific crimes possible – played images before his eyes, pictures of dead children, murdered women and horrendous headlines, and try as he might he could not block them out, could not detach them from the gentle warmth of Alex's stomach. Where before Alex's due date had been something to look forward to, a nerve-wracking rite of passage that he would simply have to get through, it now loomed before him like a gravestone, a menacing shadow on the horizon that chilled him to his very core. He pulled her slightly closer, pressing his lips to her forehead, and then gently tightening his embrace upon her as he nuzzled gently at her ear.

"D'you think you can just stay pregnant forever, Bols?" he asked quietly, his voice pained and gruff as his hand gently caressed her stomach. Alex turned into his chest, wrapped her arms tighter around him and pressed her lips to the base of his throat.

Gene pretended not to feel the hot tears that splashed onto his shoulder, just as Alex pretended not to notice his ragged breaths and pounding heart.

* * *

**I am so grateful to my faithful reviewers; it really means a lot to know that there are some people still reading, because it really does encourage me to continue. So if there are other people out there still enjoying this, please feel free to review! I would be endlessly grateful! And who knows, I might even be persuaded to crack out the smut-bunnies again!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	8. Unwarranted Captivation

**I don't own this, but I will claim adoptive privileges for Gene's legs and bum.**

* * *

The next morning, whilst Alex was distracted with the task of making herself a drink, Gene made a bee-line for the Quattro, the keys in his hand as he descended the station steps. Once seated, and after a quick glance towards the door to make sure that Alex hadn't followed him, he pulled away at speed, swerving around corners and speeding down side streets as he cut across town to the Hospital.

* * *

"Can I help you, sir?" The receptionist's voice was soft, simpering, slightly flirtatious, and he bit back a smirk, wondering if he might use that particular trait to his advantage as he reached slowly into his pocket and withdrew his warrant card, mindful to use his right hand, so as not to alert her to his wedding ring.

"DCI Hunt, love, Metropolitan Police," he showed her the card casually, and then slipped it back into his pocket, nodding to the quiet reception area. "Busy day?"

"No, it's surprisingly quiet," she replied, edging slightly forward in her seat and smiling winningly up at him. "So how can I help you,_ DCI_ Hunt?" She stressed the title, fluttering her eyelids and looking him up and down, tongue flicking out to wet her lips as she did so.

Gene smirked inwardly, but set his face in a grim line as he shook his head. "Nasty business I'm afraid love… I'm gonna have to pull one of your patients' files… And take a look at the staff roster for the eighth of February."

She looked slightly disappointed, biting her lip slightly before shaking her head. "I'm not sure I can give that out without a warrant, sir; we're asked to ensure staff and patient confidentiality, you see and-!"

"I know, I know, I know," Gene said, nodding his head and gritting his teeth in a false expression of hopelessness. "It's just-!" He looked around, edging slightly closer and leaning against the desk, his face a few inches from hers as he continued. "I'm not supposed to tell yer this, love," he murmured, as though trusting her with a hefty secret, "but- thing is, there's a chance it might save a kiddies life…" He took a deep, deliberately shuddering breath, allowing the information to sink in, certain he heard a soft sigh leaving her lips… He left the sentence hanging in the air, swallowed hard, as though choking back emotion, feeling her dewy-eyes turn upon him as he bit the inside of his mouth, carefully timing the abrupt shake of his head. "Sorry love, I shouldn't have asked – I'll get a warrant, an' then I'll-!"

"Which patient was it?" Her voice was soft, hushed, and slightly nervous; Gene flashed her a winning smile, saw her flush slightly, and answered.

"It's Alexandra Drake," he answered, smiling softly. "She's an outpatient; had an appointment with the midwife on the eighth…"

* * *

Careful to avoid displaying his hand for as long as he could, Gene took the relatively small file she handed to him, tucking it under his overcoat, along with the list of staff present on the day of the appointment, and all of their contact details. With another crookedly winning smile, Gene thanked her, his eyes glittering; he didn't miss the way she stepped closer, glancing up at him almost expectantly.

"If there's anything else you need help with, DCI Hunt, I'd be more than willing to talk you through it over coffee..?" She let the suggestion hang in the air, and Gene did his best to appear disappointed as he shook his head; she was pretty, blonde and curvy… But he wasn't interested.

"Maybe some other time, 'ey love?" He said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Got scum to catch; kids to save… Y'know how it is?" With a half-hearted smile, he turned around, heading out of the double doors without glancing back.

* * *

The first thing he did was to check the file for the write up of her most recent appointment, careful to cross reference the signatures with the staff list, which he circled boldly. When Alex was distracted, he called Ray into the office, making sure that the DS closed the door behind himself.

"If you tell the fizzy knickered lady about this, I swear to God I will chop off your bollocks and serve 'em on Luigi's spaghetti, you got that?"

Ray nodded, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as Gene swiftly showed him the list of hospital staff.

"Start from the top and work all the way down – that's every doctor, nurse and carer who so much as sniffed her, apparently. I want them all talked to Raymondo, got that?"

"Sure, Guv," Ray nodded, though he frowned slightly. "On what grounds?"

"They're just helping us with our enquiries," Gene answered, his voice a falsely sweet facsimile of Alex's for a moment, before he added, "at least, that's what you're tellin' them; far as I'm concerned, they're all guilty as sin until proven otherwise, got that?"

Ray nodded again. "Yes, Guv."

"Hop to it," Gene said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. "If she asks, you're followin' up on that Bailey bird from the Tottenham Court Road robbery, capiche?"

Ray smiled, almost knowingly. "Want me to do that on the way back an' all, Guv?"

Gene clapped him on the shoulder approvingly, and then walked out into the office.

* * *

"I miss Shaz," Alex whined softly, poring intently over yet another magazine and drawing comparisons against the now worn out photocopy of their note. Gene walked behind her, briefly assessing the office to ensure that the others were suitably distracted, and then gently rubbing her shoulder with one hand. She closed her eyes briefly, apparently enjoying the gentle caress of his fingers, before he pulled it away, half smiling.

"I can't get used to makin' me own tea neither, Bollykecks," he said seriously. "But she'll be back on Monday, full o' the joys of spring and knobbed to within an inch of 'er life!"

"Gene, that is absolutely-!"

"True!" Gene interrupted, smirking. "Seem to remember you enjoyed a good knobbin' on your honeymoon an' all…"

Flushing red, Alex shook her head and pointed to the note in front of her, clearly searching for a subject change. "I've managed to identify the source for all of these, bar one; this 'h' doesn't seem to match up with anything!"

"Got enough to build a profile?" Gene asked, smirking to himself at her obvious change in direction, while scanning the stacks of newspapers and magazines that littered the usually tidy desk before him.

"Well, in theory yes, but then there's the possibility that this one letter will throw us a complete curve-ball and upset the entire-!"

"Go with it, Bols," Gene said, nodding his head slightly. "Maybe it'll help us find it, 'ey?"

Alex nodded, and proceeded to grab her notepad from beneath a stack of magazines. Gene grinned.

"Fancy a cuppa, Bolly?" He asked, voice almost teasing.

She paused, glancing up at him in mock-surprise, then nodded, smiling. "Hot water would be lovely, thank you," she answered.

Gene smirked back at her. "Good; mines a tea – three sugars an' a stack of pink wafers, toot-sweet!"

* * *

Ray sat in the canteen, talking to yet another nurse – or was she a carer? He had no idea anymore – asking the same questions, and yet still having no idea what to look for. There hadn't been anything suspicious mentioned so far; the Doctors remembered Alex's case clearly, and had no recollection of any problems, no cause for concern. They all assured him, repeatedly, that they would not have disclosed any confidential information, and he had no reason to doubt any of them; he'd watched them all carefully, searching for any ticks, any signs that they might be lying – not that he'd ever admit it, but some of Drake's psychtwattery wasn't as much rubbish as he'd first protested.

No, he couldn't find anything amiss; the paperwork all matched up to the statements he was receiving, the staff all seemed confident enough of their roles in the proceedings, and he found himself dreading returning to the station, well aware that the Guv was in search of blood, and would be more than disappointed to hear about this dead end in the investigation.

"So you're sayin' it wouldn't have just slipped out?" Ray asked, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Couldn't have just mentioned the date in passing to someone who seemed interested?"

The nurse in front of him raised her eyebrows, her arms crossed over her chest indignantly. Ray tried not to look at her tits as she did it, lifting his eyes to her face and reminding himself he'd had a successful date the evening before.

"D'you know how many pregnant women come through here every day, Detective?" She asked sardonically, her eyes cold. Ray shrugged, taking a sip of coffee and assuming, correctly, that she was about to tell him. "So far today, I've seen fifteen myself; that's just me. We've got five nurses in the department at any given time. So I might have anything up to seventy-five women coming through here in a day; I wouldn't remember half of their names, let alone their due dates, so there's no way I'd have just 'let it slip out'."

Ray nodded his understanding, and then frowned, glancing at her almost inquisitively. "But you remember her? Drake? You remember the case?"

"Sure," she nodded, reaching into her uniform and drawing out a packet of mints. She offered one to him, but he declined, and she popped one into her mouth with a shrug.

"How come? Seventy-five women in a day, why'd you remember her?" Ray was intrigued, leaning forward and setting his coffee back down, watching her closely.

"Well it wasn't her, so much," she shrugged, rolling the mint slowly around in her mouth and sucking thoughtfully. "I mean, she was pretty an' all, but lots of 'em are…" she shook her head. "No, it was him – the husband; don't think he said five words to any of us while he was here but we all remembered him."

"Why's that?"

She paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before she spoke. "He was intimidating," she said finally, her expression considering. "Not in a bad way – just… He was protective; didn't let her out of his sight…" She chewed on her lip before continuing. "He wasn't possessive though – not the kind of scary wife-beaters you hear so much about these days… He treated her like a Princess."

Ray nodded his understanding, scribbling a note on his pad as he considered the information; he knew what she meant – the Guv might have been hard as nails before, but where Drake was concerned he was like cast iron, always had been. A word against her in his presence was a sure fire way of securing a collection of cuts and bruises in places that would make it hard to sit down for a week… He winced at the mere thought of it.

"We all said the same thing afterwards," she carried on, looking slightly moony as she recalled it. "There was something about him – he was all rough and tumble, but he looked at her like she was pure diamond… We see so many women in here without blokes, or with bad ones who want to be somewhere else – it was refreshing, really."

"So it was the Gu- the husband," Ray said, covering up his tracks. "It was the husband that stood out?"

She nodded, biting on the mint in her mouth as she did so. "Yeah; he was kind of… well… captivating, I suppose…" She smiled, meeting Ray's eyes with a grin. "That answer your question?"

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Ray nodded.

* * *

"From the syntax, it's impossible to tell whether it's a man or woman sending the note," Alex said, pacing back and forth in front of the whiteboard, her expression thoughtful as she addressed Gene, Poirot and Bammo. "But, if we consider the lettering, we'd have to conclude that it's a woman; Cosmopolitan, Dolly, mothering magazines, breastfeeding articles – not exactly the average man's daytime reading, is it?"

"So we're looking for a bird then?" Poirot asked, lighting a cigarette in his seat a mere half metre from Alex – Gene reached out, grabbed the cigarette from his fingers, and stubbed it out on the desk. Stunned, Poirot turned to look at him, consternation on his face. "Guv, what-?"

"Baby on board, Poirot!" Gene growled, nodding towards Alex. "You want a smoke, get off yer arse and move a few metres!" He ignored the look of surprise on all three faces, before nodding to Alex. "On you go, Lady Bols!"

Alex blinked slightly, and then shook herself, hiding her surprise as she turned back to the whiteboard. "Yes, as I was saying… The note would suggest a woman, if we're considering the content… But the nature of the note itself doesn't fit with the character of someone who reads up on breast pumps and home-baking."

"How'd you mean?" Gene asked, frowning.

"Well," Alex said, shrugging. "A woman interested in romance and children wouldn't tend to use this type of note; this kind of message – it's crass, it's cut and pasted, it's lazy…"

Gene sat up slightly straighter, and Alex knew she'd peaked his interest, but, well aware that he was about to speak, she shook her head at him, buying his silence as she went on. "Far more likely," she said, "that that particular woman would want to send a card, one that's homemade perhaps…"

"Like the one the Jones' got," Gene finished, nodding his head in understanding.

"Exactly!" Alex smiled, pointing at the note again. "This note – it's compiled by a man, with the intention of making us think they're a woman."

"What if it's a woman wanting us to think they're a bloke?" Bammo put in, frowning.

"'ave you got bollucks where yer ears are supposed to be?" Gene barked, his voice sharp. "How many blokes do you know who read up on breastfeeding instead of slapping the sausage into the latest copy of Playboy?"

Bammo looked abashed, and Alex smiled at him indulgently, before continuing. "My guess," she said, "is that this isn't a sole perpetrator- we aren't dealing with a single woman or man who wants a child; we're looking at a partnership – a couple; a parental unit!"

"So the reason these threats are so different?" Gene asked, looking at Alex expectantly.

"My guess is that the Jones' notes were sent by the woman, designed to be subtle, but with an undercurrent of threat… Evidently, they didn't come across the way they were expecting; they were too subtle, too mundane. I imagine that this time around they needed to be more abrupt, more forceful…"

"Bit of a U-turn, isn't it?" Gene frowned. "Handmade card to a slashed doll?"

"Yes, well the male and female perspective does differ quite dramatically," Alex said, smiling slightly. Gene felt his lips twitch in acknowledgement.

"Good cop, bad cop," he agreed.

"In a manner of speaking," Alex smirked agreeably. "I imagine the man decided that a more forceful message was required, something that couldn't be missed…"

"Still don't get it though, Bols," Gene said, shaking his head as he frowned slightly. "Warning someone you want their kiddy? It's like meetin' a bird an' telling her straight up that you'd like her to bounce on yer ding-a-ling; might be true, but it sure as hell ain't gunna happen after that!"

Alex opened her mouth to respond, but Ray walked in a moment later, looking grim enough to halt her in her tracks. "Ray, is everything ok? You look-!"

"It wasn't you," Ray answered, shaking his head grimly. "At the hospital – the staff; it wasn't you they remembered."

"What do you mean?" Alex frowned. "What hospital staff? When did you-?"

"Raymondo…" Gene's voice was a low, menacing growl, and Alex turned to him with shock on her face.

"You've spoken to the staff?" She said, her tone laced with anger. Gene grimaced.

"I asked Ray to undergo some_ discreet_-!" he put emphasis on the word and glared pointedly at Ray, "- enquiries, to eliminate any staff from the investigation, that's all!"

"Well isn't that just fantastic!" Alex snapped. "Were you planning to tell me at all or-?"

"I made an enquiry into a case Alex," Gene retorted, his gaze level and his arms crossed. "Something I do every day without asking your permission! I'm the superior officer 'ere, and I maintain the right to have Ray run around and do my bidding without express permission from your particularly snooty arse! Got that?"

"Did you even get a warrant?" Alex retorted, hands on hips. "You can't just waltz in and demand patients files, Gene, it's-!"

"Didn't need a warrant, Bolly," Gene answered, his voice a low growl. "I had that old 'coppers instinct' to fall back on, and a very obliging receptionist who wanted to save the world!"

Alex appeared not to hear him, her temper rising visibly, causing Ray, Poirot and Bammo to flinch uncomfortably. "This investigation involves me, receiving a threat for my baby!" She hissed, face flushing red. "The least you could do is tell me before you snoop in and steal my files, and interview my midwife, and start snooping into _my_ private-!"

"It's not you, Ma'am," Ray interrupted, shaking his head. "That's what I'm tryin' to say; they wouldn't have remembered you any better than the other birds on the ward if it weren't fer the Guv."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked, her frown deepening.

Gene looked particularly smug. "I believe what Raymondo is trying to say, Bols," he said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "is that the Gene-Genie hasn't lost his touch with the opposite sex!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she rolled her eyes in disgust. She was about to respond, but Ray interrupted.

"They all remembered the Guv," Ray said to Alex, wary that he may be treading on dangerous territory and supplying all of the fuel needed for yet another tremendously fiery disagreement between his superior officers. "All of them; said he was all 'intimidating' and 'protective' and-!" he glanced down at his notes and grimaced in disgust before adding, "-'captivating'!"

Gene looked at Alex with a delightedly self-satisfied expression on his face, apparently enjoying the enormous boost to his ego as Alex stared at Ray for a moment.

"They said that?" She asked, surprised out of her anger as her brain began whirring. "Those exact words?"

"Well they're not words I'd use to describe 'im, are they?" Ray said disgustedly. "Course that's what they said!"

"I'll be needin' to hear the recordings of those interviews, Raymondo," Gene said, smirking smugly, his arms crossed over his chest, "fer Detective purposes of course…"

"Oh please!" Alex said, feeling her temper snap back as she turned on him. "You can be so pathetic sometimes, Gene! And besides, we don't even know that any of this is relevant! We aren't investigating 'the many faces of Hunt', are we?"

"Nah, Drake," Ray said, shaking his head. "I spoke to the nurses – they don't remember the women; too many people comin' an' goin', too much going on – they're shipping women out of their faster than ferries in the port! But they all remembered your name – seemed quite surprised about it an' all; I asked 'em what was so special about you – no offence, like! – an' they said it was the Guv they remembered – said he stood out."

"What did I tell you, Bols?" Gene smirked. "Gene-Genie magic!"

"I'm serious, Guv," Ray interrupted, shaking his head. "None of 'em seemed in on it, or even dodgy enough to get rough with 'em, but they all said the same thing…"

Gene met his eyes, frowning slightly. "So you're sayin' they're not after Bols?" He asked, voice level.

Ray swallowed, meeting Gene's blue gaze levelly as he answered. "I'm sayin'," he started, "that if someone at the Hospital was in on it, Guv, it was most likely something to do with you."

* * *

A few minutes later, and Gene was rubbing his eyes tiredly, staring at Ray's notes with a gnawing discomfort in his stomach. Alex, too, looked uncomfortable, but seemed to be hiding it slightly better, suddenly flipping through papers on her desk as though searching for something; he assumed she was simply distracting herself, until suddenly she found something, and was scanning it with her eyes as though her life depended on it. A moment later, she stood up, pushing the paper into Gene's hands and meeting his eyes as he frowned.

"I've read this, Bols," he sighed, glancing down at the copy of the Chronicle once again.

"Yes… and don't you remember what it said, about the Jones' being 'picked'?" She wiggled her fingers, but Gene couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed, recognition flaring behind his eyes as he read the article swiftly, flicking to the second page and glancing at the Jones' wedding picture once again. "Didn't you tell me you could see why they'd pick them?" Alex asked, her voice soft, pointing to the stunning Alice and the once-handsome Gareth. "They're young, they're beautiful… but something went wrong."

"Doesn't explain why they'd choose us, Bols," he answered, shaking his head. "You, maybe, but not me; old, nicotine-stained brutes ain't exactly prime pickin' fer healthy kids."

"But that's exactly it, Gene!" Alex answered, pointing at Ray's notes. "You're not like the other men – there's something about you that all of those women-!"

"-and men," Ray interrupted, looking up from his desk. "The men remembered him too."

Alex nodded, and was about to continue when Gene pulled a look of disgust. "I bloody hope they didn't refer to me as 'captivating' an' all!"

"Nah," Ray chuckled, shaking his head. "Think the favourite was 'jammy bastard'."

"Should bloody well think so!" Gene said loudly, though he did look slightly pleased with himself as his eyes ran habitually over Alex's slender form. Alex rolled her eyes, grabbing Gene's arm and drawing his attention back to her.

"Everyone there remembered you, Gene," Alex said softly. "You made an impression – whether you meant to or not."

"I didn't say two words to any of 'em, Alex," Gene growled insistently. "You were there; I was about as welcoming as Hitler at a Jewish wedding!"

"Yes, and how many times has you simply being in a room made someone nervous, or intimidated, or scared?" Alex pressed him, her hand tight on his arm. "You know as well as I do that you can have most people quaking in their boots without saying or doing anything – we've all seen it!"

Ray, Bammo and Poirot nodded agreeably, and Gene grimaced. "Not buying it, Bolly – doesn't make sense!"

"Of course it makes sense!" Alex argued. "If Baby Jones got ill – if it's like I thought, and they killed him because he seemed weak, then they won't be looking simply for a couple who's beautiful anymore; they'll want someone who's strong, who's got something that nobody else has, who-!"

"Are you tryin' to seduce me, Bols, or convince me to follow a serious line of enquiry?" Gene's answering drawl was enough to make Alex roll her eyes once again, but she continued on, un-swayed.

"Gene, I really think Ray might be on to something here! It makes complete sense – it's all about natural selection, survival of the fittest! They've seen something in you that they want, something that suits their purposes, that-!"

"Is there not the slightest possibility," Gene interrupted sharply, "that my sharp wit and uncanny good looks just happen to be memorable?"

"Not to everyone," Alex replied, shaking her head. "Rays right – there are hundreds of people in there every day; there's no way they'd remember someone simply because they looked good!"

Gene pushed his lips into his trademark sulky pout, before glancing briefly at the paper in his hand. There was a moment of quiet consideration, a few seconds where nobody said anything… And then he was gone, pushing past them all and out of CID, his overcoat over his arm and a fresh cigarette appearing in his hands as he went.

* * *

Alex found him on the roof, looking down over some railings with an expression of deepest concentration upon his features. She stayed back for a while, content simply to watch him, knowing that he was processing all that had been said in his quiet, calculating manner, and that perhaps it was best, for now, to give him his peace – that, after all, was the reason he came up here. When the hustle and bustle of CID got too much, or an operation went wrong, or the two of them had a row, this was often the place he would come to lose himself.

She shivered against the cold February chill, wrapping her arms around herself and watching as Gene seemed to return to himself, as though he had heard her, felt her presence; he turned to her, and his eyes were unreadable for a few seconds as he remained stock still, considering her. She didn't move either, and a moment later, Gene pushed back from the railings, beckoning her forward with a brisk nod before unbuttoning his overcoat, holding his arms out to her. She stepped into his embrace willingly, and Gene wrapped his coat around her, his lips pressing silently against her forehead as she huddled into his welcome warmth.

For a few moments, they stood there, the wind howling around them and the cold air biting at their exposed skin. It was Gene who spoke first, his voice only just audible above the wind and the din of the city below.

"You really think it's worth following up, Bolly?" He asked, touching his forehead to hers; she lifted hazel eyes to his own startling blue ones, and nodded.

"Yes," she answered quietly, "I really do."

His eyes flashed for a second, and Alex suddenly knew why he was so reluctant to accept it, so keen to dismiss the idea.

"This isn't your fault, Gene," she said softly, awkwardly freeing her hand from his jacket to cup his cheek as he attempted to hide the shadow of guilt from his eyes. He nodded, but redirected his gaze, his jaw tight.

"Yeah," he murmured absently. "Sure."

"Gene, I'm serious, I-!"

He stopped her suddenly, pressing his mouth to hers in a fierce, demanding kiss that drew the breath from her lungs and caused her knees to tremble – were it not for his arms holding her up, she thought she might truly faint.

His hand cupped her cheek as he pulled away, and suddenly his eyes were dark with determination and burning with anger. "Whatever they want from me, Alex," he growled, "whatever they want from us – I swear to God, I will commit murder before they get it!"

She wanted to argue, to protest, but she couldn't; there was a fury and vengeance in the depth of his gaze that she had never seen before, and as he kissed her again, his mouth hard and passionate against her own, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he meant it.

* * *

**Hope this update was ok, and that everything is making sense (-ish) at this stage! **

**As always, I am hugely grateful to everyone who reviews, as I love to hear what you are making of the story, both positive and critical feedback welcome! It's just nice to know that people are paying it any attention at all, so please, do review, if only a few words!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	9. Discussing David James

**I don't own this, but one can dream**

**Thank heaven for lazy Sundays! Wasn't sure whether I'd get this finished before next week, and I'm tyring to be a bit more regular now! I am really grateful to those people who are taking the time to review – it is incredibly encouraging, particularly when the Fanfic scene for A2A is so slow these days! It's a huge boost to know that people are enjoying it, so if you are one of them, please feel free to let me know!**

* * *

The next few days passed quickly, and yet simultaneously appeared to drag. The leads they turned up appeared to be fruitless, and whilst Gene was keen to pursue the Baby Jones' case further, without further evidence, and with it being so far outside of his own district, there was little to no time or resources to spare for it. A few times, Superintendent Harrison approached Gene, suggesting that he hand the investigation over to DCI Grayson at Fenchurch West, that perhaps he and Alex were too involved to judge the situation clearly – a few times, Alex considered that he might be right, but Gene was adamant that he would not concede to it. Harrison argued – for an hour and a half he and Gene could be heard raging at one another down the halls of CID, and Alex had waited with baited breath for Gene to return; he did so, a few hours later, looking angry and irritable. As Alex followed him silently into his office, neither of them saw Ray slip quietly into the corridor, and if Poirot or Bammo knew about his meeting with the Superintendent, they gave no mention to anyone, simply accepting Harrison's somewhat surprising decision to allow the investigation to continue from Fenchurch East with easy compliance.

At home, Gene was silent and brooding, hiding his concern behind a film of cigarette smoke and whiskey, tumbling into bed late at night only to gather Alex into his arms as delicately as if she were made of wafer-thin paper, holding her as though terrified she might rip beneath his touch. When they made love he was intense, focused, and unusually tender; his hands caressed her with a gentleness that made her shiver, his lips whispering against her flesh like a gentle breeze. He didn't mention their conversation on the roof top again, and he pointedly avoided her gentle inquisition when she made an effort to question his intentions; deciding it was best left unchallenged, Alex let it lie.

On Monday, Chris and Shaz returned from their home, walking in wrapped within a loving pink bubble which was shattered almost immediately; Gene dragged them to the whiteboard and drilled each and every detail of the case into them, until the two of them appeared so laden with information that Alex intervened. Gene glowered at her, evidently irritable, but she pulled the two of them away before giving him the chance to argue, ushering them into the canteen whilst Gene lit up a cigarette.

"Oh Ma'am," Shaz murmured, placing a gentle hand on her superior officers arm, her eyes full of sympathy and concern, "you must be terrified, Ma'am!"

"I'm fine, Shaz," Alex insisted, smiling reassuringly. "I have complete faith that we'll find whoever it is that's threatening us in plenty of time!" She was relieved to see Shaz smile encouragingly at her in answer.

"Course we will, Ma'am," Shaz answered, setting the kettle on to boil and nodding her head in the general direction of CID. "The Guv'll see to it, Ma'am, don't you worry!"

Alex smiled indulgently, and then left her and Chris alone, winding back into CID with a feeling of intense disquiet in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

It was a long week, and Alex found herself watching Gene closely, attempting to read his strange mood swings and connect with him, yet finding that his old barriers had been firmly reinstated; the only time that he seemed to let his guard down were in those warm, tender post-coital moments, when his eyes expressed all the fear and worry and love that he seemed incapable of expressing to her in words. She tried to speak to him then, tried to gently encourage him to tell her how he felt as she caressed his spine, ran her fingers through his hair or trailed her lips down his throat; as soon as the question was posed, he seemed to stiffen, his eyes darkening as he threw the walls back up almost immediately; to his credit, he did not once roll away from her, and Alex found herself relieved.

Though he was drinking even more than usual – a feat that was impressive in itself – he did not spend his evenings in Luigi's; instead, he would sit quietly in the living room, usually with Fitz draped companionably across his lap, keeping quiet company with a bottle of single malt and a lone crystal tumbler. Every evening, Alex took Fitz for a walk, as much to allow him to stretch his legs as to feel fresh air on her face; Gene came with her, without fail, and kept his silence, though his arm was always wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly against his side as though scared that, if he let go, he might lose her. She didn't argue, quietly glad of his large bulk, his reassuring warmth, and the encouraging safety of his strong arms.

Later at night, Alex would go to bed first – tired, and sober, she could not hope to match his seemingly nocturnal hours – and Gene would always join her a few minutes later, lying himself atop the duvet and gathering her into his arms, his lips against her hair as she drifted quietly to sleep. Alex remained silently grateful for his company, since it was at night, when she finally relaxed into their bed, that her own fear threatened to engulf her; it was Gene's familiar arms that kept those fears at bay, and she huddled into them eagerly. It was only when she was fast asleep that he would carefully disentangle himself, returning to the living room, to his welcoming bottle of whiskey and a packet of cigarettes.

When he eventually joined her, usually around the time that Fitz had retired to his basket, he stumbled into their room slightly inebriated, stripping off his clothes and slipping gently into the bed. Despite his drunkenness, he handled her as though she were the most precious and fragile gem in existence, gathering her into his arms and pressing delicate, soft kisses to her face and neck. Sometimes he roused her, teased her gently, made love to her and whispered murmurings of endearment; other nights, he simply held her, one hand resting gently above her heart, the other placed protectively across her stomach. It was on those nights, Alex knew, that he slept the least – she would stir into consciousness and feel his eyes on her skin like a physical caress, would turn in his arms, and find them filled with such tenderness and protectiveness that she felt her heart break a little. He would hold her then, kiss her gently, and just as she drifted into sleep he would whisper quiet promises which she knew he would move heaven and earth to fulfill.

In the mornings, he pretended to have slept well, and despite the large bags under his eyes that spoke volumes to the contrary, Alex simply nodded her head; they both knew the truth – he would talk to her when he was ready, and not a moment before.

* * *

"I want to talk to Alice Jones," Alex had walked into his office determinedly, and Gene glanced up from the paperwork he had been pretending to fill out, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she strolled confidently towards him, dressed in a black, soft wool dress that clung to her curves. He admired the view briefly, before tossing his pen on the desk and sitting back in his chair.

"Why?" He asked, though he already knew the answer; truth be told, he wanted to talk to her too, although Harrison had been opposing his involvement in the West Midlands case, suggesting they stick to their own district and focus upon the evidence to hand – it had taken all of Gene's willpower not to shove the bastards face into the wall.

"We need to find out more about David James; Gareth's description was barely enough to narrow down even half of the UK population, let alone track down an evasive journalist – Alice knew him better, spent time with him… He clearly had an impact on her; on some level, she connected with him – she'll remember his features better, be able to give us a clearer lead…" Alex trailed off, watching Gene as he considered her closely. For a moment, she thought he'd say no; then he'd stood up, heading over to the hook and retrieving his coat.

"Where is she?" He asked, shrugging into it.

Alex hesitated, biting her lip slightly. "Gene, I think it would be best if I talked to her alone…" She let the statement hang in the air, and she saw the flash in his eyes.

"Do you now?" He asked, his eyes narrowed. "Well, I don't give a Tom's frilly knickers – I'm coming with you."

"Gene, really!" Alex protested, shaking her head. "I really think that a female approach might help – I think she'll open up to me better if I go in there alone; we don't want to scare her out of giving us whatever information she has!"

"She's a bloody nutter, Bols," Gene said, shaking his head. "The kind of nutter who goes shootin' her mouth off about her dead son to a complete stranger!"

"Yes, that's kind of my point, Gene!" Alex said dryly. "I was actually hoping she might talk to me – a 'total stranger' – about the whole thing…" She looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and could see that he wasn't in the mood to argue; he hadn't been for the last week, and it had previously been bothering her, but she was grateful of it now, hoping to use the situation to her advantage.

Gene sighed, and then nodded. "Fine," he muttered. "I want to see Wilson again, anyway."

"What for?" Alex asked, unable to help herself. Gene shrugged and opened the door, holding it open for her expectantly.

"Haven't decided yet," he said, and he followed her out without another word.

* * *

"DCI Hunt, this is DI Frank Harper; he was on board for the Baby Jones investigation."

Gene shook hands with the tall, slender and slightly over-dressed man in front of him, immediately assessing him. He was a typically good looking man in his mid-thirties, with a strong jaw, green eyes, and a set of white teeth that deserved a severe bashing. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit, and Gene knew immediately that he hadn't afforded it on a DI's salary alone – he allowed himself a brief image of the pretentious twonk sweating over a round of golf, before returning to the task at hand.

"Nice to meet you, DCI Hunt," Harper replied, and his voice was as well-spoken as Gene had imagined. "We're really hoping to help you get to the bottom of this case – we were pulling teeth out over it, but we couldn't seem to find anything!"

"Yeah," he nodded, face grim. "Well I'm hoping we can change that Harper; in fact, I could do with a hand."

"Of course, Sir," he nodded, smiling. "What can I do for you?"

"I want every case of reportedly suspicious mail from women in the area for the last two years; see if you can't sniff me out a few threats from our esteemed baby-snatcher." Gene saw Harper's eyebrows lift in surprise, but was appeased to see Wilson's approving nod in the corner of his eye.

"Of course, Sir," Harper said, covering his surprise with a smile. "I'll get right on it." He turned to his left, and raised his voice slightly. "DS Rogers, a word if you-?"

"Actually," Gene interrupted, putting his hand on Harpers arm and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I'd rather you 'andled this yerself… It's important y'know; need to be thorough…"

"Sir, I assure you, DS Rogers is more than capable-!"

"Look, Harper, you an' I both know, you're a DI for a reason – got the coppers instincts, the flare for detective work…" He allowed the quiet flattery to sink in, and saw Harper smile slightly in recognition. Dumb prick, Gene thought, before continuing. "I need a professional on this job, you understand that?"

"Of course, Sir," Harper smiled. "I'll get right on it." He turned on his heels – the squeak on the floor told Gene they were made with real Italian leather, and he rolled his eyes, wondering if the DI in question was perhaps a complete poof – and headed for the door, just as Alex let herself into the main office, and immediately banished all questions regarding Harper's sexuality; Gene felt his spine stiffen as the DI's eyes ran appreciatively over Alex's body, resting on her face as he offered his hand in greeting. Gene couldn't hear what he said, but Alex was smiling graciously, and he ground his teeth slightly in annoyance, hoping that the files in question were dusty, heavy and completely covered in shit – in fact, had it been his station, he might have been persuaded to ensure exactly that. When Harper slipped out of the office, Gene was watching him carefully – he didn't miss the appreciative backward glance that he sent in Alex's direction, and he made a mental note to find a reason to punch the bastard into next week.

"Shall we go then?" Alex asked, smiling up at him in that way that told Gene she was completely oblivious to Harpers appreciation. With a curt nod, he followed her out of the door.

* * *

She left Gene in the Quattro, smoking quietly, his eyes fixed upon her as she headed up the driveway to the Jones' house. Alex looked at it carefully, taking in the French windows, the carefully kept garden, the delicate pattern on the paving slabs; evidently, before his slump into depression, Gareth Jones had been very good at his job, and it seemed that his wife was enjoying the benefits. She knocked on the door carefully, glancing back towards Gene and sending him a reassuring smile; whether it worked or not remained debatable, since his scowl deepened, and he blew a plume of smoke out of the window determinedly. A few moments later, the door opened, and Alex turned round to face Alice Jones with a smile.

* * *

"Hello, I'm DI Alex Drake – I wonder if I might come in?"

Alice Jones frowned, her pretty face clearly baffled. "What for?" She asked, evidently taken aback.

"I'd like to talk to you, it's about – about William," Alex said, using the name that Gareth had revealed to her, seeing the immediate effect in Alice's eyes as surprise and sadness dawned fresh.

"Sorry," Alice said, her voice soft. "I've- I've only dealt with DI Harper and DCI Wilson; I don't think they mentioned you…"

"No, they wouldn't have done," Alex smiled winningly. "I'm from the Metropolitan Police; we've been dealing with a similar case to this, and we have reason to believe they might be linked."

Alice nodded, glancing briefly at her watch before stepping back and waving Alex in without maintaining eye contact. "You're lucky I'm still here," she said, straightening a mat on the sideboard as she spoke. "I'm due to leave on a cruise tonight – I won't be back for a few weeks."

"Going anywhere nice?" Alex asked dutifully, taking in the pristine surroundings, the white sofas and the numerous photographs that decorated the house, all of them featuring a smiling happy couple, the man of whom could barely have been recognised as the same one that Alex had met at his office only a few weeks before.

"Here and there," Alice said, shrugging. "I need a little sunshine, and a break… Would you like a cup of tea?" She pointed to the kitchen, decked out with black marble and solid oak units, topped with a coffee machine, toaster and kettle, all red in colour, matching the trim on the blinds and the doilies on the breakfast bar.

"Just hot water, thank you," Alex answered, smiling. "I'm afraid caffeine doesn't agree with me."

Alice glanced at her stomach, and Alex thought she detected a small hint of longing in her gaze, before she tore her eyes away and smiled warmly at her. "I was the same," she answered eventually, "although I found chamomile tea quite palatable! I still struggle to stomach coffee, though!"

Alex smiled indulgently, and watched as Alice bustled familiarly around the kitchen, noticing the way in which she lined up the cups and placed them strategically upon a tray, along with a carefully stacked plate of biscuits. The other woman led the way into the living room, setting the tray down on the coffee table and inviting Alex to sit down; she did so carefully, her eyes sweeping the room habitually.

"How can I help?" Alice asked, putting a small spoonful of sugar into her cup and looking at Alex expectantly.

"I wanted to speak to you about David James," Alex said, placing her cup on the wood of the coffee table and noticing the small twitch of Alice's fingers as she did so. "The reporter from the Chronicle?"

"Oh, yes, David," Alice nodded understandingly, eyes flitting between Alex and her abandoned drink; Alex ignored it, smiling expectantly at the other woman as she did so. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything you can tell me," Alex said, opting to let her take the lead and settling back into the sofa slightly.

"Well," Alice said, shrugging, "he was very nice – very understanding, very patient…"

"How did you get into contact with him?" Alex asked gently, resting her chin on her hand and watching her carefully.

"Oh," Alice frowned, eyebrows knitted together; a second later she had leaned forwards, swiftly grabbing Alex's mug and placing it determinedly on the slate coaster five inches to the right. Alex remained quiet, observing carefully as Alice shrugged. "Well, he approached us," she explained. "He said he was willing to offer us a considerable amount of money for the exclusive rights to the story, save us from being hounded by the press…"

"He sounds very understanding," Alex said, nodding encouragingly. "Did he mention how he'd heard about your situation?"

Alice shrugged, swiping idly at the table as though to rid it of dust. "Contacts in the police – he said it wasn't uncommon for journalists and the police to help each other out on occasion."

"And I don't suppose he mentioned his contacts name at all?" Alex asked, voice gently inquisitive.

Alice shook her head. "I never asked – it made sense, and it suited us not to talk to everyone; it was inevitable it would go to the press, and we didn't want to make any more fuss."

"But your husband," Alex said tentatively, "Gareth – he wasn't happy about it?"

Alice shook her head, and her fingers played absently with the coasters on the table before her, setting them in line as tears seemed to glisten in her eyes. "No – he- he wanted us to wait, wanted to leave it until we'd had more time… I agreed, initially, but David – I explained it to him when he came round again, and he was very understanding, assured me he didn't want to push; I made him a cup of tea and then suddenly it all came out…"

"Was he easy to talk to?" Alex queried, voice soft.

Alice nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yes… he was- he was very softly spoken… Had a very gentle voice – a good listener…"

Alex watched her for a moment, noted the slight tremble of her hand as she fussed with the arrangement of the cushion behind her, before continuing. "Did it help you, to talk to him?" Her voice was very quiet, but Alice heard it clearly, and she met Alex's gaze with wide eyes, brimming with tears as she gave a small, curt nod.

"He understood," she whispered softly, her full lower lip trembling. "He – I was so upset, for days… I cried and I cried, and I sat in his nursery for hours smelling all the new clothes he was never going to wear, and – and- …" She sobbed slightly, covering her mouth suddenly and fiddling determinedly with a slightly off-centre zip on the cushion to her left before carrying on. "He- David – he understood. He knew how hard it was – he let me talk, and cry, and tell him about things… He didn't ask questions; he just let me talk until I was done, and at the end, I felt- I felt better…" She turned her face away, a flash of guilt on her features, which Alex was swift to discourage.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about dealing with your grief, Alice," she assured her softly. "It sounds as though David helped you?"

"Oh he did," Alice nodded assuredly. "He did, he helped me endlessly – Gareth says otherwise but it did help me!"

"Can you explain?"

"Well…" Alice paused, running her tongue over her lip thoughtfully as she straightened her skirt slightly. "Well… I suppose he helped me see that – that my life shouldn't be over, just because William's is… And I know how that sounds!" Her face was flushed with guilt and pain, and Alex felt a surge of sympathy. "I know, losing a child is awful – children dying, that's bad enough, but when they're your own child…" she shook her head, tears threatening to spill. "I am sad," she whispered softly. "I'm in pain every day, and it hurts, but at least now, I can function – I can go out, go to work, see my friends, walk past children in the street without wanting to collapse in a heap…"

Alex observed her carefully, her mind whirring as she did so, making connections and assessments in her head and comparing them with the information that they had already learned.

"Tell me what he was like," Alex implored, keeping her voice low and gentle. "David, I mean; he seems to have made quite an impression on you."

"He was kind," Alice answered immediately. "He knew what I was feeling – he'd been through it; he could see things from my perspective, understood what I was going through. He just listened, and he held my hand, and when it was over, he made me realise that I can't spend the rest of my life grieving."

Alex nodded her understanding, smiling encouragingly. "I absolutely understand," she assured her softly. "It's incredibly impressive that you've managed to return to work at all, and to be able to do so confidently is truly inspiring…"

Alice nodded, brushing a hair from her arm as she did so.

* * *

They spoke for a while longer, and Alex was interested to see the obvious emotion in Alice's voice, wondering exactly how much had been lost in translation; the woman before her bore little or no resemblance to the woman portrayed in the newspaper article which Alex had been so devotedly analyzing, and it struck her as entirely strange. The more she spoke, the more emotional she became, and it was evident that, whilst Alice Jones was indeed going about her daily routine, she was doing so with a painful weight in the pit of her stomach, one that seemed to have been mislaid in the article which had been so eagerly obtained.

"Did you read the write-up of the interview?" Alex asked, tilting her head slightly to the side as she spoke.

"No, I didn't," Alice answered honestly, shaking her head. "I'd finally gotten everything off my chest – the last thing I wanted to do was read all about it in the morning paper."

"I see," Alex murmured, inclining her head slightly. "I can understand that… And your comments regarding the police – you mentioned that you felt there was evidence that had been missed, that there were facilities that should have been able to help us with our investigation…?" She let the question hang in the air, and she saw the other woman's face twist slightly, a frown creasing her pretty face as she sat slightly straighter in her chair.

"I- I don't think that's quite what I said," Alice said, her face slightly paler as she shook her head slightly. "I mean- I might have said it, but I didn't mean it as a criticism – I was just upset, and I-!"

Alex reached swiftly into the bag she had brought in with her, withdrawing a copy of the aforementioned Chronicle newspaper and scanning the article in question before reading aloud. "'_Mr Jones pledged full support to the police in the investigation, hugely distressing his wife, who has openly said that she feels let down by the service at large.'"_ Alex spared a glance at Alice, who looked suitably mortified, shaking her head in denial; with a sad smile, Alex continued to read._ ""There are so many facilities available nowadays," Mrs Jones declares, "that we ought to have more answers than this. The police say there's no evidence, but there is – there must be! You can't just steal a baby, and kill a baby, and dump a baby, without leaving a trace! Surely that's impossible?"_"

Alex had barely finished reading the paragraph aloud when the paper was jerked none too gently from her hands; Alice pored over it with rapt attention, reading the article swiftly but thoroughly, and shaking her head at intervals, her face becoming whiter and whiter the more that she read.

"This is all out of context," she stated finally, her voice dry and cracked. "I mean, quite apart from the fact that he's made me out to be a complete idiot, he's also making me out to be an insensitive bitch – it's no wonder Gareth was so angry about it!"

Alex felt a flicker of triumph, and indulged herself with a small inward smile before nodding her head. "I was surprised when I met you after having read this – it isn't an accurate reflection of you."

"What must you have thought of me?" Alice asked, staring at the paper in her hands with her mouth wide open, shaking her head dumbly. "I must have seemed so heartless – and to think that all of my neighbours have seen this, all my friends, my colleagues… How must I look?" The distress on her face was palpable, and Alex felt another wave of sympathy for the younger woman.

"You look like a woman who put her faith in the wrong journalist," Alex said softly. "You aren't the first, and you won't be the last; unfortunately, this is how their world works…Your friends and family will understand that…"

"And Gareth?" Alice asked, looking at Alex and revealing, for the very first time, the depth of her grief at his departure from their home. "Will he see that?"

"I think," Alex said softly, "that he is as much in need of love right now as you are; he can't be blamed for misreading this – unfortunately he was probably searching for an outlet for his grief, and this was an all too easy excuse to lash out…" She smiled sadly, then added, "but he does miss you; I'm sure if you called, he'd be willing to hear your-!" She stopped as, suddenly, Alice had leapt from the sofa, hurrying into the hallway with desperate determination on her face; Alex heard the frantic jabbing of buttons, a desperate plea to talk to Gareth immediately, and at that moment she feigned deafness, blocking out the sobs and apologies as she looked determinedly around the living room.

* * *

It was fifteen minutes before Alice returned, and Alex sat patiently, having finished her drink and absently perused a nonsensical article from the newspaper in an effort to distract herself. Alice's make-up had run, her eyes were red, but the small, shaky smile that she sent in Alex's direction was answer enough, even without the follow up admission.

"He's going to come over this evening," she said, voice weak with relief. "I- I think we might- I hope we can- maybe he'll give me another chance…" Her lip trembled, and Alex was on her feet a moment later, gently enveloping the younger woman in her arms, a gesture she returned gratefully.

"Of course he will," Alex said reassuringly, patting her on the back. "It was a misunderstanding – they're bound to happen; there are too many emotions involved in something like this to escape it without them. But he'll see that – I'm sure of it!"

Alice smiled at her, still shaky, but there was a resemblance to the flawless beauty from the wedding photograph on the mantelpiece now, and Alex's chest lightened at the sight.

"Thank you!" Alice whispered. "I don't - I can't believe that article… I had no idea David had written it that way; I feel as stupid as he made me out to be, but-!"

"Not to worry," Alex reassured her, smiling winningly. She hesitated for a brief moment before gently placing her hands on Alice's arms, her face composed as she spoke next. "Alice, there is one more thing I'd like to ask you, and, although it's a long shot, it may well help us to further the investigation."

"Anything!" Alice insisted, smiling still. "Anything at all!"

"I'd like to ask one of our sketch artists to come and see you," Alex said softly, squeezing Alice's arm in what she hoped was a supportive manner. "David James' interest in this case seems biased at best; if we can identify him, we might be able to make more headway in finding out what happened to William."

"Of course," Alice agreed instantly. "I'd be happy to!"

* * *

"Thank you so much, DI Drake," Alice said, holding the door open as Alex prepared to leave. Alex smiled at her, shaking her head.

"Don't thank me yet," Alex said warmly. Alice smiled, brushing at the table beside her and straightening the notepad and pen at hand. "Is this new?" Alex asked, her eyebrows slightly raised as she met Alice's gaze. "The organisation – the compulsion; is it new, or have you always had it?"

Alice flushed, instantly withdrawing her hand and shaking her head. "No, I haven't…. It's new – I just- it makes me feel better, if I'm doing something… It helps to have something to do with my hands…"

Alex nodded her understanding, and smiled at her once again. "Might I suggest that you and Gareth – after this evening – perhaps even after the cruise? - perhaps you should see someone; discuss what's happened, talk about it openly with one another… It might help."

Alice smiled, and nodded her agreement; with a return nod and a final friendly smile, Alex headed down the driveway.

* * *

"So, Lady Bols," Gene said, turning the key in the ignition and glancing across at her smiling face. "She as nutty as a Snickers bar or what?"

"No, actually," Alex said, shaking her head, the smile still in place. "There are far more crayons in the box than David James wanted us to believe; we've got ourselves a lead, Guv."

Gene looked at her for a moment, assessing her carefully, and then suddenly he smirked, putting the car into gear and moving away. Still grinning, he changed gear and put his foot down as he spoke, "Knew I kept you around fer more than just yer arse, Bollykecks."

* * *

**I hope this chapter hasn't appeared to move too quickly. I wrote it out initially, and it just went on and on. It was boring (also just realised that having Alice and Alex in the same dialogue makes the narrative blooming awkward!) so I cut it down, because really, this is the key information you need right now, and I hope it comes across ok!**

**Once again, I would like to reinforce how grateful I am to those people who are taking the time to review – it is incredibly encouraging, particularly when the Fanfic scene for A2A is so slow these days! It's a huge boost to know that people are enjoying it, so if you are one of them, please feel free to let me know!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	10. Suspicious Mail

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, or Gene – if I owned him, I wouldn't be writing about him, I'd be making use ;-)**

* * *

"Wait 'ere Bols," Gene murmured, pulling up outside the station with his usual disregard for parking spaces. "I've just gotta check in with Wilson before we head back."

Alex looked at him, surprised. "What for?"

"Asked him to check something for me," Gene shrugged slightly. "Nothin' important; just some procedural bollocks that Harrison was too busy to talk about this morning…" He trailed off, switching off the engine and removing the key, pocketing it swiftly before reaching for the door handle.

"What procedure?" Alex asked suspiciously. "Maybe I could help you? I do work in the sta-!"

She was cut off by the closing of the Quattro door, and watched in disbelief as Gene stalked swiftly towards the building, his long legs taking him up the steps and in through the front doors in a matter of moments. Bristling slightly, she sat back in her seat, crossed her arms, and adopted a sulky pout not dissimilar to the one Gene himself so often used.

* * *

"What've we got Harper?" Gene asked, slamming into the CID office as though he belonged there and ignoring the looks of the bewildered officers yet to make his introduction. DI Harper leaped to his feet, surprised, his hand flying to his dark hair for a moment as he glanced around his meticulously organised desk. Gene rolled his eyes, but said nothing as the other man grabbed a handful of files placed carefully to the left of his work.

"Not much," Harper said, swiftly laying the files out on the desk in front of him and inclining his head towards them. "I mean – there was a lot of suspicious mail," he started, gesticulating slightly as he went on, "I looked through the reports from all of the women, but I figured you probably weren't looking for poison perfumes or kinky lingerie, so I've narrowed it down to these three…"

"Kinky lingerie?" Gene asked, eyebrows raising slightly. "Only in Birmingham…" He leaned forward, braced against the desk as he nodded towards the files. "So?"

Harper nodded, straightening his tie slightly, as though preparing to make a speech, before beginning. "Three separate reports, from three different pregnant women, all of whom are married," he cleared his throat slightly before continuing. "All of them reported post as suspicious on different dates, but the forensics investigations turned up no real leads, so they all appear to have fallen by the wayside a little bit." Harper shrugged then, reaching out and opening up the first file, eyes scanning the first page.

"How far apart?" Gene asked, frowning slightly as he watched the other man. "You said they were separate reports, but, how far?"

"The first was received in June of eighty-two," Harper began, flicking to the second and third files before adding, "the second and third were from December of eighty two, and April of last year." He wet his lips with his tongue as he spoke, looking up at Gene expectantly as he did so.

"What kind of threats were they?" Gene queried, knitting his eyebrows together and attempting to displace the urge to grab the files from the Inspectors hands. He crossed his arms instead, and gritted his teeth with frustration. Harper glanced down at the open file in his hands before responding.

"The most recent one was Karen Davidson, thirty-one," he began, scanning the information before him swiftly and efficiently. "She received an invitation to a baby shower listed as her due date; handwritten invitation, and written in-!"

"Unidentified blood?" Gene finished, his mouth slightly dry as he nodded knowingly. "What else?"

Harper grabbed the next file and flipped it open. "Jessica Alexander, twenty-nine," he said quickly, "received a blank birthday card, in an envelope marked for opening on her due date; address and instructions all written in unidentified blood." Without waiting for instruction, he reached for the next file and carried on. "The first case was reported by Teresa Blunt, thirty-two; received a bottle of wine labelled for the due date of her child… I don't think I need to tell you what was in the bottle of wine." Harper looked grim-faced, and Gene shook his head, pressing his fingers into his eyes as he cursed quietly beneath his breath.

"Christ on a bike," he growled softly. "Whoever this is, they're missing more screws than a flat-packed dinner table!"

He held his hands out, fingers twitching demandingly for the files; Harper handed them over swiftly, and Gene laid them out on the table side by side. In a few moments, he extracted evidence photographs from each, carefully aligning them on the table and assessing them swiftly. A few moments later, he clouted Harper round the back of the head, quietly savouring the hiss of pain that left the DI's mouth as he pointedly jabbed his finger at each of the pictures in turn.

"Look similar to you?" Gene growled, voice more menacing now as he glowered darkly at Harper. "Do Brummies' know what a detective looks like, or have you all been too busy jamming pencils up yer arses to notice that all three of these have the same bloody handwriting?"

"With respect, Sir," Harper said coldly, his stance suddenly defensive. "I only found out about these cases today – they were reported to our uniformed officers, and we had no evidence to further any investigations; nothing ever came of them, there were no follow up reports, so it never became a case for CID." His voice was firm and defensive, and Gene clenched his fists, opening his mouth to argue. "And even if it had," Harper said, cutting Gene off before he got the chance to speak, "there wasn't any previous indication that they might be linked, and they-!"

"They're three pregnant women receiving blood and threats into their post-boxes you daft twat!" Gene roared, spit flying from his mouth as he did so. "You don't have to be bloody Einstein to see that there's a link!"

"They were all filed months apart, and were singular occurrences!" Harper retorted, standing his ground. "Three women with dodgy mail, no known motive, no follow-up threats, and no bloody evidence!"

"There's blood all over the evidence you posh prick!" Gene argued, his face reddening as his frustration grew. "And surely even your plod can tell if there's a serial offender sending threats about to pregnant women – it's not exactly rocket science!"

Harper shook his head, his teeth gritted and green eyes blazing defiantly. "Are you telling me that the plod in London remember every single case of suspicious mail, enough to report them as soon as there's any sort of similarity, even if it's only three cases within two years? In fact, what's the latest trend in London's mailboxes DCI Hunt – can you tell me that?"

Gene glared at him, his eyes flashing defensively, but he started at the question a little, and he looked away very briefly, his teeth clenched as he refused to answer. Instead, he changed tact, rounding on the DI and squaring up to him. "You should remember, Harper, that whilst I may not be your Guv, I am your superior officer," his voice was filled with warning, his eyes slightly narrowed. Harper, looking overtly satisfied with himself, nodded his head, and looked down at the files, apparently opting to change the course of the conversation.

"Now that we've established that there is a connection," he said softly, his voice calm and reasonable, though there was a slight edge to it, "we can get forensics to take another look at the evidence, see if there are any similarities they can find across the three cases that might help us."

Gene ground his teeth, but made no reply, simply granting the DI a curt nod as he picked up the files and glanced through them in turn. "I'll need copies of these," he said eventually, closing them up and pushing them into Harpers' chest once again, with perhaps slightly more force than was necessary. "Hop to it, Harper."

Harper's eyes flashed slightly at the low growl in Gene's throat, but he said nothing, simply inclining his head and moving across the room and out of the door; Gene watched him leave with a scowl upon his face, deep in thought.

"You know, if you've got a problem with my department, DCI Hunt, you should probably take it up with me." Wilson's voice sounded across the office, and Gene turned round swiftly, aware that the working noise around the room had suddenly stopped, that each and every officer was now watching the exchange with rapt attention. Gene met the other DCI's eyes, his face impassive as he noted the small twitch at the corner of Wilson's mouth.

"Well?" Wilson asked, grinning openly now. "Would you like to discuss my incompetence and insult the groundwork of my team and all of my colleagues? I'd be the first to tell you they're a useless bunch of tossers when they choose to be, but I would usually reserve the right to bollock them myself if it's all the same to you."

Gene crossed his arms over his chest, his posture defiant as he answered. "Well if you'd like to explain how yer missed the link between three pregnancy-related threats, Wilson, I'll be more than happy to hear about it."

"As my DI explained to you," Wilson answered, "they were months apart, and nothing ever came of them; now that you've brought them to our attention, we'll look into them – satisfied?"

"Not exactly," Gene growled.

"Can I ask how long it was before you checked your own case history for suspicious mail, DCI Hunt?" Wilson's voice was light and inquisitive, but there was an undercurrent of knowledge, and Gene stiffened.

"What goes on in my station doesn't concern you, Wilson," he said.

"Then nor does what happens in mine concern you," Wilson retorted, threat edging into his tone. "This is _my_ patch, not yours," he said softly. "I'm willing to help you out if I can, and I'll even spare my staff to trawl through cases for you if it catches us Baby Jones' killer, but if anyone is going to bollock my team and play king of the jungle around here, it's me. Understood?" His eyes were level, and challenging; Gene suddenly felt an unwelcome wave of respect for the other man as he met his eyes, gaze assessing. After a moment, he nodded his head.

"Fine," Gene said, voice gruff. "But fer the record, your DI is an insubordinate jack-ass with a poker rammed so far up his jacksie he's chokin' on it!"

"Duly noted." Wilson said levelly. "I'll be sure to send him to a Doctor on his next day off. Anything else?"

Gene hesitated, noting the looks of every Detective in the room and realising that he was coming all too close to appearing inferior. He stalked forwards determinedly, jabbing Wilson firmly in the chest as he growled low in his throat. "This might be your playground, Wilson," he said, "but this now involves my wife – so if I think it might help her, I will piss on your fire, stamp on your toys and crack your skull against the wall; understood?"

Wilson met his gaze levelly, and a look of respect and understanding passed between them as he did so; he nodded briefly, turned on his heel, and went back into his office.

* * *

Harper found him twenty minutes later, nursing a coffee and a garibaldi and silently wishing he'd remembered to top up his hip flask. The DI seemed to approach him with caution, though his steps didn't falter, and he stepped up to within a metre of him, holding a set of copied files out towards him. Gene took them, flicking through them habitually and avoiding the other man's eyes as he spoke.

"I want a report send through to my office as soon as you've got it," Gene said gruffly. "I'll be back up tomorrow – if you manage to extract the poker from yer arse for long enough to work with me, I'll need a hand."

Harper looked at him for a few moments, his eyes assessing, then nodded quickly. "Yes, Sir," he answered. "I'll call ahead and let them know to expect us."

There was a moment of quiet, an awkward silence in which Gene continued to peruse the files before him, and Harper, after a few seconds of uncertainty, turned on his heel to leave the room.

"Good work, Harper," Gene muttered gruffly, burying his nose in Karen Davidson's file. Harper turned round, slightly surprised, and then nodded his head almost hesitantly.

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

"Gene, there you are!" Alex's voice surprised him as he stepped into Wilson's CID once again a few minutes later, and he was grateful that he had already tucked the files away into his overcoat as she stalked over towards him, pointing at the clock. "You were gone ages! I thought we were going back to work on that armed blag this afternoon?"

"We are," Gene muttered gruffly. "Save yourself a pair of knickers and stop twistin' them up yer arse; we're going!"

Alex rolled her eyes then looked at him suspiciously, dragging her eyes over him as though expecting him to catch fire. "What've you been doing?" She asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Discussing the finer points of Policing," Gene drawled, eyes flickering to Wilson, who was stood in the doorway to his office with a smirk on his lips. The others in the office, barring only DI Harper, snickered slightly, and Alex lifted her eyebrows.

"Finer points?" Alex asked lightly. "Like what?"

"Like whether I can poach his DI and swap him for mine so that I can get some peace and quiet without drowning in pheromones!" Gene growled softly. "Are we going or what?" He held the door open and looked at her expectantly. Alex nodded, though she still looked suspicious.

"I'll just go to the Ladies room," she said sweetly, moving past him with a dark glower. Gene rolled his eyes, and was about to follow when DI Harper appeared at his shoulder, his eyes raking up Alex's legs as she sauntered down the corridor.

"Like what you see, Inspector?" Gene growled menacingly, and Harper shrugged slightly, shaking his head.

"I'm just wondering how you get all the men in your office to work instead of trying to get into her knickers..?" His voice was light, and joking, but Gene heard the silent question in them and glowered darkly at him as he clamped one hand on the younger man's shoulder, his grip like a vice.

"If you must know, _Detective_," he drawled the word sardonically, his eyes narrowing slightly as he lifted his left hand up and presented his clenched fist to within an inch of his face, making sure that his wedding ring was in plain view. "I married 'er; that's how." He met the younger man's eyes, flashing him a silent warning and seeing the surprise and embarrassment in Harpers gaze; he didn't give him time to respond, and with a forceful push away from him, he turned on his heel and followed Alex down the corridor.

* * *

"So what were you really doing, Gene?" Alex asked, plugging in her seat belt and looking at him expectantly, her eyebrows raised.

Gene pouted slightly, eyes narrowed. He knew he had to tell her something, or she'd be chasing after him like a dog for a bone. That being said, he was conscious that the last thing in the world he wanted was to tell her the complete extent of the psycho's they were dealing with… So he shrugged, glancing in the rear-view mirror and then pulling away from the parking space. "Asked Wilson to 'ave a look for any suspicious mail reported in the last two years; gotta come back tomorrow an' see if they've found anything."

Alex looked surprised, and Gene glanced at her, frowning as he changed gear. "Why d'you look as though I've started spoutin' French and doin' the flamenco?"

She shook her head, smiling softly. "I'm impressed, that's all; I imagine there was a time not so long ago that you wouldn't have thought to look into it at all."

"I wasn't that bloody bad!" Gene complained sulkily.

"If you say so," Alex smiled at him warmly. "So you're coming back again tomorrow… You'll be able to check up on the artist's sketch – I checked with Wilson; they're sending someone over to Alice Jones' this afternoon."

Gene nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to hers; a moment later he surprised Alex, reaching for her hand as they pulled onto the dual carriageway. "See Bols," he murmured, briefly lifting her fingers to his lips, "we'll get 'em; nothin' to worry about."

* * *

Gene left Alex in charge of investigating a robbery, leaving her no room for argument when he made to head for Birmingham by himself. He slipped out of CID early, whilst Shaz was still busy making the first cup of tea of the day, and before Ray had even made it into the office. Chris was fiddling absently with a rubix cube, his brow furrowed in concentration; Gene snared him with a swift grab under the armpit, dragging him into the corridor whilst Alex was busy looking at files.

"Need you in the collators' office, Chris," Gene muttered, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up swiftly. "Might not be anything, but check through the files for any reported suspicious mail from pregnant women in the last two years. I've got a hunch they've moved since Baby Jones', but we can't take the risk, you got that? Ask Viv if he remembers anything coming up." He glanced into the office, seeing Alex sipping thoughtfully at her drink as she read, and glancing back at Chris. "An' make sure the good Lady Bollinger doesn't trip arse over tit in them ridiculous shoes of hers, alright?"

Chris nodded, glancing from Gene to Alex, and then shrugging. "Whoever's sending this stuff Guv, I reckon they must be mental."

"You really are a Detective, Skelton," Gene drawled dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Nah, Guv," Chris said, shaking his head. "I mean – you're scary enough as it is, but we've all seen DI Drakes right hook… Reckon she'd given Mike Tyson a run for 'is money on a bad day." He nodded in the direction of the collators' office and added, "I'll get right on it, Guv."

Gene watched him go, half smiling, before heading to the car.

* * *

"This him?" Gene asked, picking up the sketch on the topmost file of Wilson's desk and assessing the image before him. "David James?"

"Apparently," Wilson nodded, handing Gene a tumbler of whiskey and narrowing his eyes slightly. "The Jones' both agreed it was a good likeness."

"Both of 'em?" Gene queried, taking a mouthful of the amber liquid gratefully as he attempted to ignore the dull ache in his skull from the previous night's copious consumption of liquor.

"Apparently he went round immediately after your DI left; whatever she said, it seemed to work – they headed off on a cruise together and aren't planning to be back for a few weeks." Wilson shrugged. "Alright for some, I suppose."

Gene chuckled, shaking his head. "Probably the usual psychtwattery, scaring the knickers off 'em…" He shrugged. "She's good at that."

"Easy on the eye, too, apparently," Wilson said softly, meeting Gene's eyes with a knowing smirk. "Don't be too hard on Harper," he said, grinning. "He's a decent copper, but we've all been guilty of thinking with our dicks."

"Maybe so, but I usually try to avoid the wives of senior officers," Gene replied dryly, scowling slightly.

"Well I'm sure your fist in his face put him off," Wilson answered, grinning. "And if not, the pregnancy definitely will – lad hates kids these days."

Gene said nothing, not bothering to ask why, simply nodding his head and pointed back to the sketch on the table between them. "Any hits on this bloke?"

"Never seen him before in my life," Wilson admitted grimly. "Pretty average looking, no distinctive facial features – can see why being a journalist would suit him, really; you could miss him in an open field if he wore green."

Gene stared at the sketch, committing it to his memory as best he could; the man's face was slightly rounded, missing the definite jawline and cheekbones that might have made him good looking. His nose was small and straight, lips thin, and eyes small and round. His hair was close cropped, although slightly floppy at the fringe… Wilson was right; there was nothing memorable about him. "How accurate d'you think this is?" Gene asked, glancing at Wilson expectantly.

"I imagine the best person to ask would be DI Drake," Wilson grinned slightly, then shrugged, turning back to the sketch. "But I imagine the eyes are wrong – people always seem to get the eyes wrong."

Gene nodded, gritting his teeth slightly. "You'd think they'd remember them best, wouldn't you?"

Wilson sighed, shrugging again. "All I know is, Hunt, this isn't exactly going to catch us a kid-killer; you hand that out, we'll get fifty calls a day about suspicious looking blokes with short hair – we need more."

"Nothing on your files for David James?"

"Loads," Wilson said, his voice dry. "Unfortunately, the names as common as muck, and that's probably why he used it; we can't track down every David James on record and interview them about a stolen baby."

"Not like the good old days," Gene muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You mean when we could imprison 'em all on a hunch?" Wilson grinned. "I know what you mean – got to be by the book, following procedure to a T…"

"What I wouldn't give to shove that book up a Judge's arse an' get 'em out on the beat fer a week," Gene muttered, rolling his eyes. "Rules'd change in a second."

"Keep dreaming, Hunt," the other man drawled, shaking his head. "The only rules that are going to change around here are the ones they haven't even made yet."

* * *

DI Harper stood up the second that Gene entered the main office, and he had to roll his eyes at the inevitability as the DI fiddled awkwardly with a pen before falling into step beside him.

"Sir, I just wanted to-!"

"Did you call ahead?" Gene cut in, nodding towards the open files on Harpers desk. "Davidson and the others- did you call?"

"Yes, sir, I called; they're expecting us, but-!"

"Right," Gene nodded resolutely. "Get yer cardigan on before I change my mind."

"Yes, Sir, I will," Harper said, nodding profusely, "but I just wanted to apologise for-!"

"You got something on yer nose, Harper?" Gene snapped back, his eyes narrowed. The DI's hand flew to his nose, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he shook his head slightly.

"No, Sir, I haven't, I just-!"

"Do you want somethin' on yer nose?" Gene interrupted again, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting one eyebrow.

"No, Sir, I just-!"

"Then stop kissin' my ass and bein' a snooty brown nosin' pillock," Gene retorted, "and get your overly posh bollocks down to the car… Now!"

Harper looked at him, apparently taken aback, for several moments, until Gene lifted his eyebrows threateningly; a moment later, he had dashed for his coat, thrown it around his shoulders, and barked instructions at the DS opposite to inform Wilson of his whereabouts, before leading the way out of the office, closely followed by Gene.

* * *

They drove in silence for several moments, Harper looking decidedly uncomfortable and uncertain, whilst Gene quietly enjoyed allowing him to stew in his own nerves. It was several minutes later, after committing the triumphant feeling of superiority to memory, that Gene finally made the decision to speak.

"Fer the record," he said, his voice a low growl laced with warning. "If I catch you lookin' at my wife again, I will cut off yer bollocks with a blunt spoon and stick dynamite where yer todger ought to be. Understood?"

"Of course, Sir," Harper nodded, grimacing at the imagery. "I had no idea! I thought – Wilson didn't tell me- I was just-!" He took a deep breath, and then shook his head suddenly. "I won't look at her again, Sir."

"Good," Gene answered. "'cause I've only had to use a spoon once before, and it wasn't pretty!"

He saw Harper flinch slightly, felt the younger mans' eyes assessing him, apparently trying to understand whether or not he was joking, and Gene couldn't resist a grin as he swerved smoothly round the corner.

"Any news from forensics?" Gene asked, avoiding eye contact as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead.

"The blood on the notes is all unidentified, but the same." Harper said, swallowing slightly. "There aren't any fingerprints to match up, but as best they can tell the handwriting is the same… They're assuming the notes were written with a fountain pen, which isn't really surprising… And the paper the notes were written on- it wasn't paper."

"What d'you mean it wasn't paper?" Gene asked, glancing across at him. "What is it then?"

"Well, it is paper, sir, but – well, it's parchment; high-grade stuff too, by the looks of it, not the sort of thing you can just pop to the corner shop for."

"And it's all the same paper?" Gene said, frowning. "Thought one was a birthday card and another was an invitation?"

"They were," Harper said, nodding. "But the invitation was on parchment and the card was lined with it; the label on the bottle of wine was made of it as well…" He shrugged. "Still no real leads though; that's probably why nobody made the links before – there aren't really any links to make."

"Maybe not yet," Gene muttered thoughtfully, eyes narrowing ever so slightly before he spoke again. "Get someone onto finding out where you can get hold of that parchment; might be a longshot, and God knows nobody's gonna remember selling a couple of sheets of paper, but it might turn something up."

"I'll get Jamieson on it as soon as we're back, Sir," Harper nodded. There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. "I'm sorry about DI Drake, sir."

"I thought I told you not to brown-nose me, Harper?"

"I don't mean yesterday," he said, shaking his head. "I mean the threat – the investigation… I'm sorry she has to go through it."

"Yeah…" Gene wet his mouth, swallowing hard, then nodding. "Yeah well, nothin's gunna come of it, Harper, so not worth worryin' yer y-fronts about." He swerved gratefully into the space outside the given address and added, "We're here."

* * *

**I know it's not the most exciting chapter in the world but there's more interesting plot lines to come next time… Honest!**

**Thank you so much for all of the reviews for the previous chapter – it means so much and I am so glad to hear what you make of my writing, so please review and let me know what you think; it really does make all of the difference!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	11. The Three Cases

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, or Gene – but I do own DI Harper, and I'm becoming quite fond of him.**

* * *

Jessica Alexander opened the door, dressed in a simple red shift dress that came just below the knee, and a warm black cardigan which she hugged tightly around herself. She might have been pretty once, Gene considered, but she had a harrowed look about her countenance that he noted instantly, and gauntness to her cheeks that suggested that she had once lost a lot of weight very quickly, and never gained it back. Her blonde hair was lighter in places, and Gene wondered how it was that a thirty year old woman was already turning grey, before inclining his head in greeting. Harper introduced them both, and Gene watched with careful interest in his gaze as Jessica nodded her head, holding the door open and inviting them in.

Five minutes later, having declined an offer of tea and biscuits, Gene found himself squished uncomfortably next to DI Harper on a worn, moth-eaten sofa that sagged awkwardly on one side, as though only one seat had ever been occupied. The house was eerily quiet, and Gene glanced around, a habit now drilled into him by Alex, for clues to her personality, her lifestyle… There wasn't much to see. An old television set sat in the corner, with a worn Betamax video player attached, though there were no tapes to be seen, and it looked oddly forlorn and disused. The small window was covered in off-white drapes, which looked as though they might once have been expensive, but years of going un-cleaned had left them discoloured and stained with damp. The coffee table, a simple affair of cheap plywood, was covered in mug-stains, despite the presence of an old pub coaster. There were no photographs in sight, and Gene resisted the urge to enquire after it, deciding instead to turn his attention to the woman opposite, who now seated herself on a rickety wooden chair pulled from the cheap fold-up dining set in the corner of the room. Harper was making small talk with her, apologising for the intrusion, assuring her they wouldn't be there long, and Gene watched her nod and smile indulgently in response, though saw no real warmth or hint of emotion in her gaze.

"The thing is," Harper said softly, smiling apologetically at her, "we have reason to believe that the threat you received wasn't a one-off; there were a spate of similar incidents, and we think they all originated from the same source. I'm afraid we need to ask a few questions about your pregnancy, the threats, the baby…"

"There is no baby," Jessica answered dully, her voice blunt and hollow, a shadow creeping across her face. "There was once but- but not now…" She shook her head, turning away and closing her eyes tightly, tears squeezing out from her lids as she seemed to steel herself, shaking slightly.

Harper sat up, suddenly alert, and Gene felt himself tense as well, rapt attention focused solely upon Jessica. "Did they take it?" Harper asked, his expression understanding, voicing the question that both officers wanted to ask, although Gene sorely wanted to clout him round the ear for being so blunt. "The baby – did they take it away from you?"

Jessica looked at him in disgusted awe, her face twisted with revulsion. "Nobody _took _my baby!" She answered, shaking her head and trembling slightly as she attempted to stem the tears now flowing freely from her eyes. "I lost him!" She was sobbing now, her face flooded with tears. "I- I fell down the stairs when I was seven months pregnant!" Trembling and weeping, she put her face in her hands, and Gene and Harper exchanged an uncertain glance, silently determining who should be the one to comfort her. Gene silently mouthed 'DCI' in Harpers direction, and the reluctant DI reached a consoling hand outwards to rest upon her arm, patting uncomfortably.

"I- I lost him!" Jessica cried, lifting her head and meeting Harpers eyes sadly. "He- they had to- I had to give birth to him, but- but he was already gone!" Her eyes were bright red and brimming with tears and Gene felt his gut clench as she trembled and shook her head. "There wasn't a baby left for anyone to take!" She whispered softly, wringing her hands together and swiping at her eyes. "So no, Detective Inspector Harper," her voice cracked as she went on, "nobody took my baby."

"I'm sorry," Gene said, shaking his head and glancing at Harper. "We'll erm- we'll see ourselves out… Come back another day, maybe…" He went to stand up, but Jessica hadn't heard him, simply sitting and shaking her head back and forth.

"I had to give birth to my dead baby boy," she whispered softly. "And then they asked me if I wanted to hold him…" Tears were falling freely, splashing into her lap as she stared almost unseeingly ahead of her. "Would you want to hold him, DI Harper?"

"I-!" Harper started, then glanced at Gene, swallowing hard as he shook his head. "No Ma'am," he said softly. "I wouldn't."

"No…" she said quietly, licking her lips tentatively before she went on. "I let them take him away – told them to get rid of him, said I couldn't look at him… And then I hear about that poor Baby Jones…" She choked slightly, closing her eyes as she shook her head from side to side. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You think it was the same people…" She was biting her lip now, her fingers digging into her arms as she shook. "I think it was them, too," she whispered softly. "I was at the same hospital you know – the children's hospital – it- well… It's supposed to be one of the best maternity units in the UK… I was with them from day one; they ran the tests, confirmed the pregnancy, ran the check-ups… Everything…" She smiled half-heartedly, trailing off for a moment and staring into the screen of the empty television set, her eyes a mask for the swirl of thoughts and emotion that ran through her mind. Eventually, she spoke again, her voice slightly haunted.

"You know, I spent a year wishing they'd been able to take him?" There was a falsely chatty edge to her tone, but the grief shone through and Gene flinched away from it. "I spent a year wishing whoever it was that had sent me that threat had got the chance to take him away because at least he'd still have been alive…" She shook her head, lip quivering. "Then I read that article and I…" She shuddered visibly, wrapping herself tighter in her cardigan. "Some days, I've been glad he died," she whispered, "glad he didn't get butchered and thrown in a dumpster… Then I realise that I'm admitting I'm glad he's dead and I hate myself, and I- I-…" She shook her head, turning away, and Harper looked at Gene helplessly.

Gene grimaced, but nodded his head, and noted the relief on Harpers face when he withdrew his hand. "Don't beat yerself up about it, love," Gene said gruffly, leaning forward on his elbows and watching her carefully, his eyes level; she wasn't looking at him, but he could tell she was listening, almost rapt with attention, her head turned ever so slightly in his direction. "Whichever way it happened, we'd probably be sat 'ere 'aving the same conversation…" He trailed off, glancing around the flat briefly before speaking again. "Were there any other threats, any other-?"

"Any other letters written in blood delivered to my doorstep?" Jessica asked shrewdly, turning to him with an almost amused look on her face. "No, DCI Hunt; it's fair to say that since I lost my baby, I've been left well and truly alone."

"And yer husband, he didn't get anythin' suspicious?" Gene asked, his voice slightly tentative as he lifted an eyebrow. He saw Jessica's face flicker with hurt, and he grimaced as she shook her head abruptly.

"No." She answered sharply, her voice soft. "He left not long after – after I- after it happened…" She gulped hard, gritting her teeth so tight that Gene thought he heard them creak before she spoke again. "We'd been struggling with the pregnancy – arguing all the time, over everything… He'd been having an affair for a few weeks before we lost the baby… It was just the icing on the cake, really…" She smiled, shaking her head sadly. "We weren't a very good couple – I wasn't- I wasn't a very good wife."

"Don't do it to yerself, love," Gene grunted awkwardly. "Just 'cause he's an ass, doesn't mean you have to agree with him."

She smiled, sadly, and Gene decided in that moment that it was time to leave.

* * *

After excusing themselves, and apologising once again for the intrusion, they sat back in the Quattro, Gene smoking a cigarette in silence whilst Harper drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the door frame at his side. Both of them were quiet, and for several minutes nothing was said as they deliberated Jessica's situation. Gene, particularly, stared at the closed front door, his mind swimming with thoughts and feelings that made him incredibly uncomfortable. A few moments later, he shook himself, disposing of the cigarette through his open window and starting up the engine with evident intent.

"Right," he muttered, putting the car into gear. "Let's get our skates on, then you can get back to yer knittin', an' I'll get back to a cosy shag." Without another word, he pulled away.

* * *

Karen Davidson answered the door, dressed in what appeared to be a hand knitted jumper and jogging bottoms, and holding a screaming infant in her arms. Her black hair was in disarray, her pretty face was scrubbed clean of makeup, and there were bags under her eyes as though she hadn't slept for a week. A tea towel was slung over one shoulder, and she rolled her eyes at the sight of them.

"I'm sorry, but I'm really not prepared for company right now!" She answered, her Birmingham accent particularly strong, causing Gene to grimace slightly in response.

"Mrs Davidson, I'm DI Harper," the DI spoke up, smiling warmly. "We spoke on the phone? This is DCI Hunt – are we still alright to come in?"

"You can come in," Karen nodded, cringing against the cry of the child currently wriggling in her arms. "You can even have a cup of tea, if one of you will take Benny long enough for me to put the kettle on!"

Harper faltered slightly, his hands suddenly shooting into his pockets, and Gene rolled his eyes, stepping into the house and holding his own hands out. "I'll take 'im," he muttered, raising an eyebrow at Harper, who viewed the little boy with a slight wariness, as though expecting him to explode at any moment.

"Get yerself a cuppa, love," Gene added to Karen, "you look like you need it!"

Karen smiled gratefully, handing the child over willingly and waving the two of them into the house. Gene didn't pay attention to whatever she said next, as the child in his hold appeared to become fascinated with his cheek, running small and inquisitive hands over Gene's face with a gurgle that changed from a cry to a giggle. Gene, surprised, glanced at Karen, who smiled almost sadly.

"He always calms down for men," she said softly. "Probably because he's never had one of his own…" She looked sad for a moment, and Gene was about to speak, when she interrupted his thoughts, suddenly falsely bright as she asked, "how do you take your tea, officers?"

* * *

Gene sat, ten minutes later, holding Benny in the crook of his arm, the infant snuggling happily into the warmth of his overcoat. A cup of tea rested on the coffee table within easy reaching distance, but he was distracted by the giggling, gurgling child currently slobbering on his arm. A part of him wanted to grimace, to wipe his coat clean and hand him back to his mother; another part felt strangely protective, and that part encouraged him to hold the infant a fraction tighter.

"May I ask where your husband is, Mrs Davidson?" Harper's voice was soft, and Gene listened without removing his eyes from Benny's.

"It's Ms, these days," Karen corrected him, voice slightly clipped, but not in anger. "My husband and I – we separated. Not long after I found out I was expecting actually; last I heard he was travelling around Europe with a beautiful Swedish lady."

Gene felt his eyebrows rise at that, but turned his attention to Benny, who was currently attempting to fit one of Gene's fingers into his mouth whilst producing a muffled squeal of delight, and allowed Harper to deal with it.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the DI said, and Gene thought he heard genuine empathy in the other man's voice. "I'm afraid we need to talk to you about the threat you received – the invitation you received; was it a one-off or-?"

"Oh yes," Karen nodded, and Gene felt her gaze upon him as he pulled what he had thought was a discreet face at the baby in his arms. Resolving his features into a sulky pout, he lifted his eyes and met her smiling gaze. Her eyes were bright, and for a moment, Gene felt uncomfortable, before she broke eye contact and smiled instead at Harper. "Yes, it was just the one threat – if you'd even call it a threat… I mean, these days I think it was probably just the hormones making me crazy; it wasn't anything too terrible, really!"

Gene gritted his teeth slightly, glancing at Harper, who looked slightly taken aback. "I'm afraid not," Gene said, shaking his head. "We've err- well… there've been a few cases on record, and we're startin' to link 'em together – you might 'ave ready about the Baby Jones case in the papers?"

Karen laughed slightly, shaking her head and taking a sip of tea. "I'm a single mother, DCI Hunt," she said warmly, "I don't have time to read the newspapers!"

"Oh…" Gene said, swallowing back a lump in his throat before lifting Benny up slightly, settling him on his knee and bouncing him absently up and down as he spoke to Karen. "Well, in short form, you – well… you weren't the only woman to get this sort of a threat; the Jones' received a few, and their baby was – well… well 'e was – 'e was kidnapped… at the hospital…" Gene shook his head slightly, trying to ignore the chill that crept down his spine as he added, "It wasn't pretty."

Karen stared at him, apparently disbelievingly. "Kidnapped?" She asked, stunned. "And you're sure it's the same person? The same person who sent me a harmless invitation, and never did anything about it?"

"There's some evidence to suggest it," Gene said, nodding slowly. "But we're more concerned about you at the moment, love. Need to know what happened, whether there was anything suspicious goin' on, anything at all…?"

Karen, still stunned, shook her head. "Well, no, I mean – I had the threat, and then my due date came, and I had Benny, and I came home, and there's never been anything…"

"When did the threat arrive?" Harper asked, his voice calm and measured as he posed the question to her. "What was going on at the time?"

Karen looked at him, her face creased in a frown as she shrugged. "I – well, we!- we'd just found out we were expecting; I was over the moon, but John hadn't really ever wanted children, and he wasn't pleased with the idea. He was worried about money, about how we'd cope, how he'd handle being a father…" She shrugged, smiling slightly. "He couldn't be happy with us anymore; he left a few weeks after the threat arrived – after we'd reported it and he knew that it was being dealt with…" She looked at them both warmly as she added, "he's a wonderful man, but he couldn't live with a child, and I couldn't live without one…" She shrugged then, nodding towards Benny. "He occupied all of my time after that – growing him, giving birth, getting him home… I never had any time to worry about a threat, and I never heard anything again."

"So your husband left?" Gene said, frowning. "And the threats stopped?"

"Well, I don't suppose the two events coincided," she smiled softly. "I only received that first one, and then we spent a few weeks deciding what to do about everything – me, him, us, the baby…. And in the end we decided what we wanted were two very different lives, and he left." Her face was accepting, though slightly sad as she added, "It was the right decision – however hard it was at the time."

"And Benny?" Gene said, nodding to the infant currently waving his arms excitedly at Gene. "Since he's been here, there've been no threats, nothing like that?"

"Nothing," Karen smiled, shaking her head. "We've been happy; really happy, all things considered. Once the due date passed I barely thought about the threat at all – I was just relieved to have my little baby." She looked at him for a moment, and her face crinkled into a slightly deeper frown. "Am I missing something?" She asked, looking between Gene and Harper almost suspiciously. "Only, you seem very surprised that I haven't received anything else, and I'm starting to worry…"

"Sorry, love," Gene smiled, though it may have come across as a grimace, since Benny chose that moment to belch loudly, dribble bubbling from his mouth as he giggled at his achievement. Looking back to Karen, Gene went on, "just tryin' to be thorough."

A look of understanding seemed to dawn on Karen's face then, and she spoke quietly, her voice slightly nervous. "The other baby – the one that was kidnapped… What happened to him?"

Gene grimaced, and Harper looked decidedly sick, whilst Benny maintained an oblivious giggle as he wriggled his feet delightfully against Gene's leg.

"What happened, DCI Hunt?" Karen repeated, after several moments of uncomfortable and awkward silence. Grimacing, Gene met her eyes, and he knew a moment later that she understood, before he even opened his mouth.

"He died," Gene said gruffly, his voice dry and cracking in his throat. "He- they killed 'im…"

Karen's face paled suddenly, turning a horrendous shade of grey as she suddenly got to her feet, picking her child easily out of Gene's lap and clasping him to her chest protectively. There were tears in her eyes, and Gene briefly wondered how many women would cry on them today, before Karen was gently cooing and cuddling Benny, her voice soft and light, though edged with fear. Gene glanced over at Harper, who was gritting his teeth almost painfully as he watched the mother and child before them.

"So what you're saying," Karen said eventually, her arms still wrapped around her child as though terrified to let him go. "What you're saying is that, they might have killed Benny?"

"Not necessarily," Gene answered, his voice slightly rough. "They might not 'ave meant to hurt him; might just 'ave been tryin' to scare you…"

"But you think that's what they wanted?" Karen asked, swallowing hard as tears slipped unbidden from her eyes and down her face. "They wanted to take Benny- to hurt him…"

"It's possible," Harper said softly, his face grim. "But we can't say for sure."

"But it is what you think?" She asked, voice sterner now, eyes drilling into his.

Harper nodded reluctantly. "Yes, we think that's what they wanted initially."

"But- but why? Why would they want Benny?"

"We don't know," Harper said softly. "What we're trying to understand is why they changed their minds – why they didn't want him."

"How do you know they changed their minds?" Karen demanded, still cradling Benny like their lives depended upon it. "What if they're just waiting for their chance? What if they still want him and-?"

"They don't, love," Gene assured her, shaking his head. "They ain't after Benny now – if they'd wanted 'im, they'd 'ave taken 'im at the hospital; they've threatened other people since, an' they followed through. Just thank yer lucky stars they decided against it, 'ey?"

* * *

They left a short while later, Harper having calmed Karen down with a cup of tea and mumbled assurances, Gene having managed to soothe Benny, who had erupted into floods of tears along with his mother, and settled him for a nap. Harper said nothing as they got into the car, and Gene was grateful for it, his mind whirring and head spinning as they headed towards their next destination.

* * *

Pulling into the drive of Teresa Blunts house, Gene's immediate reaction was to roll his eyes; the detached house - with its carefully manicured front lawn, white picket fence and delicately pruned bushes on either side of the polished front door - was like something out of a story book. Two cars occupied the flagstone driveway, both of which glimmered with newness, and Gene couldn't help glancing across at Harper – he noted, almost interested, that the DI looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Let's get this over with then," he muttered, stepping out of the car and heading towards the door; Harper followed in his wake, quietly, and when the door opened a few moments later, he remained silent, allowing Gene to make the introductions.

"Mrs Blunt?" Gene said, flipping open his warrant card and quirking his lips at her slightly. "DCI Hunt and DI Harper," he went on, inclining his head towards the DI at his shoulder, who offered an awkward, tight-lipped smile in response. "We alright to come in?"

Teresa Blunt smiled, and Gene made a mental note that it was a genuine smile as she waved them in with slender arms. He gave her a quick once over, taking in the expensive blouse, the fitted pencil skirt that hugged a slim but yet curvaceous waist and the long legs encased in glossy tights. Her hair was pinned carefully on top of her head, face made up simply but effectively, highlighting the deep brown colour of her eyes and the delicate features of her face. Gene briefly considered that she was the picture of health, before heading in and glancing around the house. Everything was carefully arranged, expensive wooden furniture filling the living room, set upon plush red carpets next to white leather sofas. Vases and photographs adorned every surface, but there was no sign of dust or disorder – it was clean, well kept and maintained, but lacking in the obsessiveness that Alex had relayed to him regarding the Jones' household. It was clean, but not clinically so, and despite himself, Gene couldn't help but think there were far worse places to live.

"Can I offer either of you a drink?" Teresa's voice was soft, like warm honey, and Gene turned to look at her as she continued. "I have tea, or coffee, or perhaps something stronger – we have brandy and whiskey if you'd prefer?"

"Tar love," Gene nodded, "whiskey sounds great."

"Not for me, thank you," Harper said, shaking his head and swallowing slightly.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Teresa offered, still smiling obligingly. "Terry's just upstairs, but I'm sure he'll be down shortly; I'll get your drink, DCI Hunt!"

She sauntered off, and Gene and Harper settled themselves onto the sofa; Gene couldn't help but watch Harpers discomfort, and took the opportunity to comment upon it. "Jesus, Harper, you look as nervous as a choir boy in a prison shower; thought this'd be right up your street!"

"Why?" Harper asked, frowning as he met Gene's eyes. Gene lifted his eyebrows, and Harper sighed. "Large houses intimidate me," he said honestly. "Leather sofas, Persian rugs -!" he nodded at the rug adorning the floor in front of the fireplace, "- oak furniture, bay windows…"

"So yer tellin' me yer Royal Highness had a private bungalow instead of a mansion?" Gene asked sardonically. "Bully for you."

"I'm not posh, DCI Hunt," Harper snapped suddenly in response, his eyes narrowed. "You think because I wear a nice suit and expensive shoes that I must have gone to a private school and played Polo with the Royals?" He shook his head. "I worked my ass off to get here, Sir, and I just happen to like a well cut suit – is that a crime?"

"Touched a nerve, Harper?" Gene asked, blinking slightly at the DI's reaction and absently running his hands through his hair. "You're jumpy as anything today…"

"Forgive me if I don't share my life story with you, sir," Harper answered shortly.

"Here you are," Teresa's voice distracted them, and Gene turned to see her breezing over to them calmly, holding a crystal tumbler filled with a generous measure of what smelt like expensive single malt, poured over ice. Behind her, a tall, slim man with thinning blonde hair walked slowly, dressed in a casual and yet clearly expensive ensemble of shirt and jeans. The man's hand rested easily on Teresa's waist, until he walked forward to introduce himself, offering both police officers his hand.

"Terry Blunt," he smiled warmly. "Good to meet you."

"We've been waiting for someone to get in touch with us," Teresa said shaking her head slightly. "After that terrible business with Baby Jones, we couldn't help but think it all seemed too familiar to be a separate incident."

"You were right," Gene said, nodding slowly. "We think the Jones' case is linked to the threat you received – we're tryin' to find out a bit more about what happened…" He trailed off slightly, wondering how best to broach the topic, but Teresa beat him to it.

"Oh of course, we completely understand," she smiled, squeezing her husband's knee gently as they settled themselves into the sofa opposite. "We'll help in whatever way we can, although really the entire thing was over almost as soon as it began."

"How'd you mean?" Gene asked, frowning. "You got the threat back in June of eighty-two, that about right?"

"Yes, it was a few weeks after we found out," Teresa nodded, her hand linked delicately with her husbands as they relaxed into the sofa. "We didn't really know what to make of it, but by that point we'd already made our minds up about how to proceed, and a few weeks later it seemed almost a waste of time having reported it."

"How so?" Harper asked, frowning. "You didn't take the threat seriously? A bottle of blood marked with your baby's due date seems fairly worth a report to the police, don't you think?"

"Oh of course," Teresa agreed, nodding profusely. "Which is why we decided to report it - but the threat never really seemed relevant."

"What d'you mean?" Gene queried, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Someone was threatenin' yer kid…"

"Well yes," Teresa said, "but it had never been our intention to keep it."

Harper and Gene both frowned, glancing at each other with a slight look of confusion. "'ey?" Gene managed, face slightly blank.

"We were never looking to have a child," Teresa explained matter-of-factly, glancing at her husband with a small smile. "We're not maternal people – we never planned to have a child, and the pregnancy was entirely unexpected. We went along and had the tests, and we considered the idea a little more – but we both knew we didn't really want a baby." She shrugged, glancing from Gene to Harper with a small smile.

"So you terminated the pregnancy?" Harper asked, his voice slightly accusatory, and Gene risked a small glance in his direction – the DI looked intrigued, though his face was crinkled with another unrecognisable emotion.

"Well, yes," Teresa nodded, shrugging a little. "We would have made terrible parents – we live to work, and we really couldn't welcome a child into our lives. I must admit, when I heard about Baby Jones, I was glad I'd never wanted one – I can't imagine how horrendous it would have been had it come to a head." She took a casual sip of her drink and shook her head slightly. "I know it's frowned upon – I do understand that, but we couldn't have handled a child. It was better for everyone that we didn't follow through with it."

"When did you have the abortion?" Harper asked, taking out a notepad and scribbling something down, looking at Teresa expectantly.

Teresa looked briefly thoughtful, her frown slightly creased, and then she nodded slowly to herself. "Well, we received the threat in June, and then – yes, it was just after that… the first week or so of July, I think…"

"And you didn't hear anything after that?" Gene asked, sitting slightly forward in the chair. "No threats, no letters, no strange kind of messages or anything?"

"No," Teresa said, shaking her head. "We just went to the Hospital, we had the appointment and that was that… We never heard anything else."

"And when the due date came around?" Gene asked, watching her closely. "Nothing in the post?"

"Nothing," Teresa confirmed, and Terry agreed, nodding his head silently as he squeezed his wife's hand. Gene sighed, absently running his hand through his hair and shaking his head.

"And that was it?" He said, exasperated. "That was it? They left you alone, they just- that was it?"

Teresa nodded, looking at Gene and Harper carefully before adding, "Yes."

* * *

Gene sank into the seat of the Quattro, resting his head back against the cool leather as he closed his eyes, taking a long, deep drag from his cigarette and exhaling slowly, relishing the feeling of the smoke in his lungs as he attempted to displace the twisted knot currently residing in his gut. His head was swimming, swollen with unwelcome thoughts and emotions that he didn't even want to consider, but that flew to the front of his mind, filling him with dread.

Unbidden, his mind went back to that moment a few hours previously, when he had held Benny Davidson in his arms; he recalled the warmth of his small hands on his face, the soft gurgle of laughter as it left the toddlers throat, and the warm, earthy smell of talc and baby shampoo… The idea of a child had haunted him for years, terrifying him, filling him with fear and horror and desperate denial… It wasn't until very recently - until Alex, in fact – that he had considered the idea, but now that he had… Now, he wanted nothing more; the fantasy of a child had finally become a reality, a tangible possibility… As he recalled Teresa Blunt's reply, her matter-of-fact tone, her genuine honesty, he felt a blade of white-hot pain stab through his chest and down to his stomach. For a brief moment, he imagined Alex's pained expression, her eyes flooding with tears, and a moment later he had forced the image away, just as Harper stepped into the passenger seat.

"DI Drakes a psychologist, right?" He asked, glancing across at Gene, who nodded through gritted teeth. "What do you think she'll make of all this?" There was a pregnant pause, a silence that was heavy with thought, before Gene replied.

"She won't," he said bluntly, putting the key into the ignition resolutely. "She won't make anythin' of it."

"I don't understand…" Harper frowned, and Gene sighed, rolling his eyes slightly as he did so.

"She won't make anythin' of it, 'cause we're not goin' to tell her."

"But-!"

"Look, Harper," Gene growled, turning the key sharply and glowering across at the DI. "'ave you ever seen a full-grown woman strung up on a washin' line by 'er knicker elastics?"

Harper frowned, gulping slightly as he responded. "Erm, no, sir, I – I haven't…"

"Good." Gene nodded. "If you know what's good fer you, you never will, 'cause you'll never tell DI Drake about this; got it?"

"Yes sir," Harper nodded agreeably after a carefully considered moment. "Got it."

* * *

**So I thought about making each of these meetings a separate chapter, but I wrote Jessica's, and it seemed too long, so it became a compacted chapter with Karen and Teresa – I hope it doesn't seem too compact, as there was no way to make this into separate chapters without detracting from the overall feeling… But I hope it works for you guys! **

**Please let me know what you think, as it really means so much to get any feedback at all! **

**(Oh… There will be Galex interaction next time, honest!)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	12. A Two Way Street

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, or Gene. Dammit.**

* * *

The drive home seemed to simultaneously take all too long, and yet not long enough. His head swam with thoughts and feelings that were both unwelcome and yet wholly necessary, and it was all he could do to maintain his concentration on the road. By the time he reached the station, he was desperately in need of a drink, and upon entering CID, he was half-glad to find that Alex was absent, presumably interviewing or chasing something up… He didn't bother to dwell on it, instead heading straight to the safe enclosure of his office, and pouring himself a large measure of whiskey as he attempted to calm the warring storm of emotions currently occupying his body and mind.

As the warm liquid burned down his throat, he closed his eyes, pain and self-loathing welling up inside him as his horrific ideas began to formulate, as the truth of them fought their way to the front of his mind. He'd hate himself, he knew; he'd hate himself for the rest of eternity, and Alex would never forgive him, even if she understood… But she couldn't understand – he couldn't allow her to understand; he couldn't compromise her. The door to the main office sounded and he turned round to see Ray, Chris and Shaz all chatting amicably, laughing and smiling, Alex in their wake, looking pleased but tired. He watched her, saw the sway of her hips, the protective cradle of her hands on her stomach, the gentle smile upon her lips and the soft bounce of her curls as she walked. His heart constricted with love at the sight of her, and as her eyes lifted to his office he felt himself falter, felt his resolve weaken. He couldn't ask it of her, he thought, feeling his mouth go dry and finding himself an excuse to pour yet another drink. He watched her move resolutely towards the office, saw the gentle twitch of her lips as she walked with renewed purpose, and he slammed the whiskey down his throat, feeling it burn its way down to his stomach with a small shudder.

Alex pushed open the door without knocking, walking in confidently and smiling at him coyly as she slid without hesitation into the reach of his arms; he felt his heart tighten, felt a chill sweep down his spine even as her warmth enveloped him, but despite himself he put his glass down, wrapped her in his embrace willingly and welcomingly, burying his face in her hair as he inhaled her scent and committed her to memory. She'd hate him, he thought to himself, his arms tightening around her and pulling her even closer. She'd hate him for as long as he lived and beyond, but if it helped her – if it saved her pain, he'd do it.

"How was your day?" Alex asked, her voice warm and soft, thrumming with contentment as she pressed gentle kissed to his throat. Gene swallowed slightly, pressing his own lips to her forehead before he replied.

"Fine, Bols," he murmured, stroking one hand through her hair. "Wilson's lookin' into David James, an' Harper didn't turn up any other cases…" He paused slightly, then added, as if as an afterthought, "course, he's a useless tosser, so that might not count fer anythin'…"

"Mmm…" Alex mumbled agreeably, although in reality, Gene wasn't certain she'd heard him, as her hands were dancing underneath his shirt and stroking swift, delicate touches across the flesh of his back. Gene closed his eyes, willing himself not to react.

"How was yours?" He asked, voice slightly throaty and cracked as her nails tickled up his spine.

"Fine," she mumbled, peppering his throat with kisses. "Solved a robbery, charged a mugger, managed not to kill Ray…" She flicked her tongue across the hollow at the base of his throat and Gene suppressed a groan. "Missed you…"

"Yeah…" Gene nodded, feeling himself caving in, knowing that his desire for her would win out, at least this time… He drew her gently back, cupped her face in his hands and met her eyes resolutely as he responded.

"Let's go 'ome, Alex."

She smiled wickedly, nodding her agreement before she stole a brief kiss from his lips. "Yes Guv," she teased, flicking her tongue against the corner of his mouth; this time, Gene couldn't repress his groan.

* * *

Alex settled herself on the sofa, a glass of water in one hand whilst she petted Fitz's head with the other. Gene walked in holding a tumbler full of whiskey, having already shrugged off his jacket and removed his tie. His shirt was open, revealing a teasing glimpse of his chest as he took a sip of his drink, leaning against the wall and watching her carefully. There was a strange look in his eye, a slight darkness in their depths that flipped her stomach and caused her insides to melt as he downed his drink in one and walked forwards, setting the glass upon the coffee table and leaning forwards to claim Alex's lips with his own, his hand tangling in her hair as his tongue wound teasingly and tantalisingly into her mouth; she moaned against him, and he pulled away with a groan.

"Upstairs, Alex," he growled. "Now."

* * *

He wrapped her in his arms as they stepped into the bedroom, pulling her mouth to his with a soft and yet fierce urgency that caused Alex's breath to catch in her throat. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt, drawing him closer as she pressed her chest into his, revelling in the passion of his kiss. He touched her expertly, his fingers brushing against her flesh with a certainty and knowledge that caused her knees to tremble; he knew just where to touch her, knew the exact spot on her spine that turned her legs to jelly and sent a flood of warmth to her stomach. Gene pulled her into him, slipping his hands beneath her dress and underneath the waistband of her knickers to gently cup the warm flesh of her arse. Alex was clinging to him, legs trembling as she felt him pressing into her, his hot mouth leaving hers to tease down her throat and over her collarbone.

"You're beautiful, Alex," his voice was a soft, low growl in his throat, and she shivered in his arms as his breath teased across her skin, one hand pushing her knickers down as he slipped the other between her legs. She felt his fingers against her, firm and insistent, and as he slipped two inside her, Alex bit down on her lip, struggling to stay standing as his skilled and knowledgeable fingers teased and caressed her, alternately thrusting in and out of her wet heat before scraping both roughly and delicately across her clit. She moaned loudly, resting her head against his shoulder for the briefest of moments before his other arm wrapped around her waist and he lifted her clear off the floor, his fingers still buried inside her. "Wrap yer legs around me," Gene ordered, his mouth nipping and licking at her throat and the shell of her ear; Alex was barely able to suppress a whimper before she obeyed, eagerly enveloping him with her long legs as he pushed her up against the door.

"Gene," Alex whispered, her voice husky and laden with lust. "Gene, please, I need-!"

"I know what you need, Alex," he answered, lifting his head up and meeting her eyes with an intense gaze as his fingers swiftly worked her to her peak, caressing and pinching until she was a trembling, writhing bundle in his arms, their eyes locked together the entire time. As she let out a noise of pleasure somewhere between a whimper and a scream, Gene leaned into her, his mouth less than an inch from her ear as he added, "I always know what you need…"

Before she could respond, he'd pinned her up firmly against the wall with his hips, supported by one arm as his other hurried to unfasten his fly; he pushed trousers and boxers low on his hips, freeing his straining erection and thrusting into her without another word. He buried himself inside her for a fraction of a second, relishing her welcoming warmth for a heartbeat, before beginning to move within her, his hips a blur as he took her roughly, his mouth on her throat and chest as she clawed blindly at his back, begging for more, to be taken faster, harder… She was writhing and moaning, her nails digging underneath his shirt and marking his flesh; Gene was groaning, gasping, clinging to her tightly as he sucked on the flesh of her shoulder, hard enough to bruise her ivory skin.

"More, Gene!" She whimpered, her voice rasping and broken as she groped at his back, feeling his muscles contract beneath her fingers with each movement. "Please! Please, I'm almost- I'm almost there, I -!" Gene covered her mouth with his, tongue swiftly entwining with hers as he went on, burying himself hilt deep with every thrust, dropping his hand between them to scrape one fingernail across her clit, the pressure just enough to set her moaning, send her body into a spasm, her muscles tightening around him as he growled roughly against her mouth.

"Come for me, Alex!" His tone was authoritative, and he could feel her nod, felt her entire body react as he twisted her clit once more; she was screaming, moaning, crying out, clinging to him with desperate passion, and a second later he was with her, releasing deep within her as stars burst behind his eyes.

* * *

He laid her gently on the bed, shrugging out of his shirt and trousers as she wrapped herself in the duvet, her eyes slightly dazed and glassy as she watched him. He couldn't meet her gaze, and instead he focused on folding his clothes, suddenly noticing the small red droplets that marked the back of his shirt. Frowning, he turned towards the mirror, glancing over his shoulder at his reflection and grimacing at the small red marks Alex's nails had left.

"Blimey, Bols," he muttered, reaching to touch one and hissing slightly as he suddenly noticed the pain. "What did I do?"

Alex smiled almost sheepishly, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink as she shrugged. "You took me by surprise," she said softly. When Gene glanced at her questioningly, she smiled, almost sadly, patting the space on the bed beside her; when he didn't move into it, she sighed. "You haven't touched me like that in a while," she answered, wetting her lips and avoiding eye contact.

Gene frowned, pausing in his attempt to swipe at the small markings as he glanced at her. "'ey?" He asked. "I can't stop touchin' yer, Alex."

"Yes," Alex smiled slightly, but shook her head. "But not like that – it's not- it's been different, lately."

"Different?" Gene asked, slightly affronted. "Different, bad?"

"No, just- different…" She shrugged, adding, "You've had a lot on your mind. It's been bothering you…" She swallowed, biting her lip. "We've made love most nights, Gene," she said, her voice soft.

"We usually do," Gene answered, though he cringed slightly at the phrase, wishing she'd used a less poncy term.

She smiled, wryly, lifting her gaze to meet his as she shook her head. "No we don't Gene," she said, grin wider now, "we don't 'make love' – we never 'make love'." She was using those waggly fingers now and Gene grimaced at the sight. "We make love when bad things happen," Alex murmured, her voice almost sad. "The rest of the time we fuck."

He blinked, caught slightly off-guard by her coarse language, his eyebrows flying up into his hairline as he met her eyes. He was about to speak when she cut in, pulling her knees to her chest as she spoke.

"Something's been bothering you, Gene," she whispered, her eyes still fixed on his. He sighed, unable to look away. "Talk to me," she implored softly, holding her hand out in front of her, palm facing upward expectantly. Gene swallowed, watching her facial expression carefully, noting the patience and understanding in her gaze as she kept her hand held out for him. With a sigh, he nodded, placing his hand in hers before moving to sit beside her, his other hand reaching for her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Bols," he murmured, wetting his lips with his tongue before speaking again. "I've- everythin' just-!" he shook his head, searching for words that didn't want to come, his tongue tripping over them as he looked into her hazel eyes. "I dunno, Bolly," he whispered, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against hers. "I just…" he trailed off, swallowing hard, then shook his head, turning his head slightly away from hers. He felt Alex nod, and a moment later she was slipping from the bed and rummaging in a bedside drawer; his eyes followed her naked behind across the room, watching her carefully and longingly.

A few seconds later, and she was slipping back into the bed, a blue tube in her hand as she patted the mattress again. "Lie down," she said quietly, gently running her fingers across his shoulder blades and dropping a kiss to his throat. "I'll clean your cuts for you – stop them getting infected."

"They're scratches, Bols," Gene uttered half-heartedly, though he lay down on his side willingly, eyes flitting hungrily up and down her body, drinking in the bare breasts and smooth flesh. Alex caught his gaze, and smiled, shaking her head.

"Later," she murmured. "Lie on your front."

"The views not so good from that angle," Gene answered, smile lightly flirtatious.

"No," Alex said agreeably, "But they say if you limit one of your senses, the other four become more aware…"

"'ey?" Gene frowned, absently rubbing his head. "How'd you mean?"

"Lie on your front, Gene," Alex answered, grinning. "And close your eyes."

* * *

Alex straddled his back, naked except for Gene's shirt, which she had wrapped around herself but left open and unbuttoned. Gene lay on his front, his head pillowed on his arms, eyes closed, and Alex was certain she heard a soft sigh of enjoyment as she gently rubbed his shoulders. She wished she had some massage oils – they, after all, would make all of the difference, but there was no way in hell that Gene Hunt would allow himself to be smothered in essential oils containing lavender and ylang ylang, so she would simply have to make do.

Sighing, she traced her fingers gently down his sides, tickling his flesh teasingly, before gently applying pressure to his muscles, kneading them carefully, but avoiding the red cuts for the moment. She hadn't been conscious of making them – hadn't realised at all until Gene had pointed them out – but she was grateful for it now, vaguely aware that right now, at this moment, where Gene was just the right side of tipsy, relaxed, and somewhere between horny and satiated with a naked woman on top of him, he was most likely to speak freely.

She had to be careful not to rush him though, she thought, and so she continued to gently ease his muscles, feeling the knots in his back loosen beneath her fingers, hearing the grateful groans he emitted and smiling to herself. A few minutes later, she reached for the tube of antiseptic cream she had taken from the drawer, taking time to rub an ample amount into the smallest scratch on his back; Gene shivered slightly, but didn't protest, relaxing once again into her touch as her newly moisturised fingers massaged his sides and the base of his spine.

"What you doin', Bolly?" he mumbled softly into his arm, his eyes still closed and his voice slightly muffled. "S'nice…"

"I'm looking after you," she smiled, resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss his cheek, his throat, his back… Shaking herself slightly, she began to rub more cream into the next scratch.

"Don't need lookin' after, Alex," Gene answered, yawning slightly as he shook his head ever so slightly. "Meant to be lookin' after you…"

"I don't need looking after either, Gene," Alex answered, shaking her head slightly, although she knew he couldn't see.

"Yes yer do…" he answered quietly, tiredly, his eyes still closed. Alex tilted her head slightly, noting the slight crease in his brow as he said it, feeling the muscles of his back tighten beneath her fingers and cause her to pause slightly in her ministrations; his eyes fluttered open as she did so, and she wet her lips before speaking again, her hands returning to his shoulders.

"I don't need anything, Gene," Alex smiled, leaning forward and allowing her nipples to graze his back, her lips brushing against his shoulder blades as she heard his sharp intake of breath. "I've got you…"

Gene said nothing for a moment, and Alex returned to applying cream to his cuts, gently massaging his flesh and enjoying the warmth under her fingers. She felt him sigh, felt him tense slightly, then saw him shake his head ever so marginally. "Maybe it's me yer need protectin' from…"

She froze for just a moment, her fingers faltering, and Gene took the opportunity to roll over, her legs still either side of his body as he lay on his back, looking up at her with tenderness and pain in his eyes, before pulling her mouth down to his, kissing her softly, sweetly, painfully…

* * *

Later, Alex slipped back into bed, her eyes trained upon Gene, who lay peacefully on his front, the arm that had been draped protectively over her still outstretched across the mattress. He was breathing softly, quietly, and Alex felt tears prick at her eyes as she watched him.

He'd been almost painfully tender with her at first, kissing every inch of her body with infinite affection, tongue, lips and mouth uniting as he'd worshipped her, murmuring words of admiration and wonderment as he went, not allowing her a second to return the favour, not once seeking gratification from her as he'd teased, and caressed, and stroked, and adored her…

"You're gorgeous, Alex," he'd growled softly against her neck as he kissed down her throat.

"I'm sorry…" he'd murmured as he kissed over her stomach. "I'm sorry…"

"Gunna keep you safe, Bols..." He'd whispered as he made his way back up her throat and towards her ear. He'd ignored her protests, shaking his head with a pained look in his eye before reclaiming her mouth, his lips soft, loving, tender… And then suddenly, out of nowhere, they were hard, insistent, forceful, pleading, and he'd pushed her legs apart almost desperately, plunging deep inside her, taking her quickly, roughly, needily…

Alex shivered at the memory, tugging the duvet up over herself as she looked at him. He'd held onto her long after he'd finished, his hold tight, his arms strong and almost desperate, and she'd tried without success to assure him that it would all be fine, that there was nothing to worry about, that everything would work out for the best…

"I love you, Alex," he'd said eventually, his mouth next to her ear, his eyes shut tight. "When I hurt you… Yer need to remember that." He'd rolled away then, and disappeared into the bathroom; a few minutes later she'd heard the shower running, and she knew he'd say no more on the matter tonight.

Now, Alex slid closer to him, into the reach of his arm as she threw one long leg over his hip and rested her face next to his on the pillow, feeling his breath on her face as she gently stroked his cheek with her fingertips.

"Love's a two way street, Gene," she whispered eventually, pressing her lips briefly to his and smiling as he pulled her closer; she wrapped her arms around him and rolled slightly onto her back, so that Gene's head rested in the crook of her neck, his arm across her waist as she pressed her lips to his forehead, her eyes stinging with tears.

Gene let her think he was asleep.

* * *

Gene rose first – he usually did, these days – and carefully extricated himself from Alex's limbs, gently brushing his mouth across her shoulder before slipping from the bed, pulling on his trousers and making his way downstairs.

Fitz was awake, waiting patiently in his basket, and at the sight of Gene he leapt up, hurrying over and butting affectionately at his leg, eagerly responsive to Gene's affectionate ruffle of his ears, before he darted off towards the back door, tail wagging enthusiastically. Gene grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from his coat pocket, before opening the door and following the elated dog outside, lit cigarette in hand.

Fitz bounded around excitedly, and Gene watched absently as he smoked, vaguely aware of the cool morning air against his skin, but somehow not quite bothered enough to return inside for a shirt. It was March, he thought absently, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaling slowly; four and a half months to go.

With a grimace, he sat himself down on the door step, attempting to make sense of his thoughts, even as Fitz chose that moment to barrel towards him, throwing his weight across Gene's legs as he lapped enthusiastically at his face. Gene laughed, half-heartedly, but ruffled the dogs fur gently, watching the large brown eyes as they fixed upon him and feeling a small tug in his gut at the seemingly sad expression.

"Don't look at me like that," he muttered, shaking his head and scratching gently behind Fitz's ears. "You don't get an opinion." The dog whined, as though understanding, and Gene half-laughed again, allowing him to wriggle slightly closer, his tail thumping slowly and steadily against the ground.

With a deep sigh, he shook his head. "When all this goes to shit, Fitz," he muttered quietly, his voice a soft undertone as he ruffled the fur at the dogs neck once again, "you best look after 'er."

* * *

Alex stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of hot water and watching with sad fascination as Gene petted and fussed their dog, speaking to him in a low, quiet voice that she couldn't hear, but wished she could. He often did this – when he was agitated or upset, he seemed to find a great deal more time to sit quietly with Fitz, murmuring and talking to him. Some days, she even found herself wishing that Fitz could talk, confident in her assumption that the dog knew more than she did about her husband's mood on any given day.

A moment later, Gene had gently pushed the dog off his lap, standing up tall and turning into the kitchen. He started slightly at the sight of her, and Alex knew he'd expected her to be in bed, but he made no further reaction, simply herding Fitz inside and stepping into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

"Aren't you cold?" Alex asked, half-smiling as he stood there in suit trousers and nothing else. Gene shrugged, moving forward to pick up the cup of tea she had made for him, and then pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

"You look good, Bols," he murmured against her flesh, his eyes flitting up and down her body as he spoke. Alex frowned, glancing down at the leggings and jumper she had thrown on; she was about to make a comment, but then Gene slipped his hand to her stomach, resting his forehead against hers as he added, "this looks good." She thought she saw a slight flash in his eyes, a flicker of pain and hurt, but then it was gone, and he was pressing a gentle kiss to her lips and walking away.

Alex followed him with her eyes, thoughtful and slightly worried, before sighing and moving across the kitchen to feed Fitz.

* * *

"Ray, my office, now!" Gene stormed into the office ahead of Alex, and Ray sloped into the office with a roll of his eyes. Gene was vaguely aware of Alex following in his wake, and made sure to shut the door forcefully before she could enter. He was vaguely aware of her shout of indignation, but ignored it as he turned towards Ray, who was currently frowning as he lit up a cigarette.

"Everythin' alright, Guv?" He asked, exhaling slowly, his eyebrows knitted together.

"No." Gene answered gruffly, running a hand through his hair and grimacing as he closed the blinds against Alex's questioning face before turning back to his DS. "It's a bloody great mess, Raymondo…"

"Anythin' I can do?" Ray said, still frowning, his hand stilling in the air as he met Gene's eyes in the darkened office.

"I need yer help," he said. "Feels like I keep askin' yer fer help, but…" He shook his head, grimacing and scratching the back of his neck. "Bols can't find out. I- there's been three other cases, an' Bols can't know – you got that?"

"Course, Guv," Ray nodded, though his face was apprehensive. "An' Chris?"

"No," Gene muttered, shaking his head again. "'e can't keep a secret fer the life of 'im, an' the last thing I need is Shaz findin' out an' taddlin' to the Missus..."

"But, Guv, I-!"

"I mean it Ray," Gene growled. "If any of this gets back to Alex, it'll backfire on us like shit from a pensioners arse! I wouldn't be tellin' you if I could 'elp it, but- well… I can't." He reached into his pocket and quickly found himself a cigarette, lighting it and taking a deep drag to calm himself as he glowered slightly at Ray's uncertain expression.

"You sure, Guv?" He queried, looking hesitant. "I mean- last time yer didn't tell 'er somethin' I thought she'd scratch my eyes out with her bare hands…"

"Trust me," Gene hissed, his voice low as he exhaled sharply. "If she finds out about this, there'll be bigger things to worry about than yer eyeballs." He took another deep drag, watching Ray as he shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other. For a moment, Gene debated changing his mind, not telling him anything, just carrying on as things were and damning the consequences… But he couldn't. He'd been awake all night, contemplating, calculating, considering, and he knew there was no other way, that this was a sure fix, if not an easy one, and that one day, he hoped, she'd be able to forgive him… Even if she couldn't, he thought, he could live with it… Maybe.

"Ok," he nodded to Ray, swallowing back against the slight lump in his throat. "Here's the thing…"

* * *

**I hope this chapter has seemed to flow ok – I needed a little plot, a little Galex, and a little Fitz-therapy, so I really hope it pulled together alright in the end! **

**As ever, I am unendingly grateful to all of my reviewers, and I would love to hear your thoughts on this update, as it really is incredibly encouraging!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	13. Operation Bastard

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, or Gene. Dammit.**

* * *

Alex watched as Ray left Gene's office, looking slightly uncomfortable, but saying nothing as he headed to interview a potential lead for a drugs investigation. She stood up, intending to slip into Gene's office and question him on the matter, but as soon as Ray had left, he shut the door, keeping the blinds closed and sending a clear message that he did not want to be interrupted. With a sigh, she settled back into her chair, carefully assessing the artist's sketch which had been faxed over from Birmingham. She had to admit, it didn't exactly narrow their investigation down – in truth, they didn't even have any real proof that David James was even involved; he could simply be a bad journalist, after all, and all of their worrying over him could be for nothing… But, no, she thought. He was involved – this was all too suspicious for it to be anything else.

"I had a look at them case files for you, Ma'am," Shaz said, interrupting her train of thought by appearing at Alex's side, speaking in a quiet voice meant only for her. "I couldn't find anything, and- well, the Guv had Chris look into it too, and he couldn't find anything, either."

"Nothing at all?" Alex asked, lifting her eyes up to meet Shaz's gaze and frowning slightly. "Nothing suspicious, or strange, or even a little – off?"

"No Ma'am," Shaz answered, shaking her head. "There was an old lady in Tottenham Court Road – got a funny threat about her dogs barking, but that was all, Ma'am."

"And you're certain Chris didn't find anything?" She clarified, looking thoughtful. "There's no way he could have forgotten to tell you, or-?"

"No Ma'am," Shaz smiled, blushing slightly as she added. "Chris can't keep a secret to save his life, poor thing."

"No you're probably right," Alex nodded, agreeing. "Ok. Thanks Shaz… Maybe I'll phone through to Birmingham and see whether they've come up with anything."

"Yes Ma'am," Shaz nodded. "Want me to call through for you?"

"No, that's ok," Alex smiled. "I'll phone DI Harper myself."

* * *

"Hello?" Harpers voice was sharp, as though agitated, and Alex half-smiled to herself, risking a small glance in Gene's direction and seeing that, whilst he had at least opened the blinds now, he was busy throwing darts with a face like thunder – he wouldn't notice.

"Oh, Frank, it's Alex here," she simpered, keeping her voice slightly low so as not to draw attention from Ray and Chris. "Alex Drake, I mean," she added, combining it with a small, girlish giggle. "We met the other day. How are you?"

"DI Drake?" He sounded wary, and Alex recalled Gene's insistence that he had fancied her – she imagined that, in whatever encounters there had been since then, Gene had made his feelings on the matter clear; of course he was wary. "Erm, why-? I mean, erm, what can I do for you?"

"Oh of course, how silly of me!" She was bordering on pathetic now, she realised, but it had always worked before. "You see the thing is, we've been turning all of our cases over down here, and we can't find any links to Baby Jones – DCI Hunt mentioned that you'd be looking into things at your end?"

"Yes, I will – I mean, I have," Harper corrected himself, and then paused slightly. "There wasn't anything here, either," he said, and Alex resisted the urge to slam her fist on the table.

"Nothing at all?" She asked, allowing a small note of pleading to creep into her voice as she did so.

"Nothing at all," Harper clarified, and Alex couldn't help glancing in Gene's direction, half-hoping this would somehow change the other DI's answer to something she could work with.

"And you're absolutely sure?" She asked again, biting her lip slightly before continuing. "It could be a very small link – something that might seem insignificant at first, but-!"

"Have I questioned your judgement on the files in your collators' office, DI Drake?" Harpers voice edged with a sudden sharpness, and Alex knew she wasn't going to get anything useful out of him if she continued in this manner.

"No, no, I'm sorry, its just – well, it's a matter of extreme personal importance!"

Harper's voice seemed to soften slightly then, and Alex half-smiled. "I know," he answered, "I'm sorry, DI Drake; I really am." There was a pregnant pause, and for a moment, she wondered if he might add something else. She waited patiently, holding her breath without even realising it.

"Is there anything else, DI Drake?" He asked eventually, and Alex let out the breath she had been holding with a shake of her head.

"No, Frank, that's all; thank you!"

"No problem," he said softly. A second later, the line went dead, and Alex vented her frustration by slamming the phone back down into its cradle.

* * *

"Hunt!" Gene picked his phone up with a scowl, hoping that whoever it was would think twice and decide to hang up instead, so he could get back to drinking, and throwing darts, and occasionally appreciating the curves of his wife's arse from a respectable distance.

"Sir, it's DI Harper."

No such luck, Gene thought grimly. With a sigh, he turned so that he was facing away from the main office, absent-mindedly looking at the shelf behind his desk which was filled with pointless paraphernalia.

"What is it?" He asked, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, and quickly lighting up.

"I've just had a phone call from DI Drake," Harper answered, and Gene was momentarily grateful for the grim note in the DI's voice; so it hadn't been a pleasant experience? Good.

"So?"

"She was asking about our case history," Harper said dryly. "And inferring that I've missed something."

"She likes to do that," Gene answered, half smiling to himself. "What did you tell 'er?"

"Nothing, Sir," Harper answered, and he sounded slightly agitated. "Look, are you sure that this is the best-?"

"Yes," Gene cut in, taking a drag on his cigarette before carrying on, allowing no room for further interruption. "I've already 'ad my DS onto me, an' I don't need you at it an' all; there's a reason I made DCI before you, yer got that?"

Harper sighed, reluctantly, Gene thought, but he didn't protest. "Yes Sir," he answered. "And are we still not telling-?"

"Wilson?" Gene guessed, exhaling his latest lungful of smoke and shaking his head absently. "No. Less people know about this, the better, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Harper said, but Gene heard the reservation and doubt in his voice, and sighed. It wasn't his favourite part of the plan either, but needs must – if it hadn't been entirely necessary to have Harper in on it, Gene knew he'd have rather taken Wilson any day of the week.

"Look Harper," he said, "I know he's yer DCI an' it's a bugger not to tell 'im, but if this is gunna work, we need it kept schtum, ok? Three people know about all this, an' I intend to keep it that way." He glanced around in time to see Alex rising from his desk, and rolled his eyes. "Gotta go – keep me posted." He dropped the phone back into the cradle, and made his way back to the dartboard, retrieving his darts just as Alex slipped into the office.

"Anything interesting?" She asked, nodding towards the phone as she made her way over to his desk, sitting gently on the edge and looking at Gene carefully. He shrugged, throwing his dart casually, careful to maintain his posture and keep his eyes averted as he answered.

"Super was askin' after the case," he said, gritting his teeth as he loosed another dart and concentrated upon following its path to the triple twenty. "Told 'im we 'adn't turned anythin' new up yet." After tossing the third dart, he turned back towards her, reaching for his whiskey and pouring a small measure into the glass at its side. "Said we were keepin' at it," he added, taking a sip of his drink as he walked towards her. He stood less than a foot away, towering over her and not touching, watching her face carefully and seeing the usual delicate blush which always swept her features with this sort of proximity.

"We seem to be at a dead end," Alex said, her eyes fixed upon his; Gene was careful not to glance away, although he did concede to a mouthful of whiskey.

"Not a dead end," he answered a moment later. "There's a door somewhere; just gotta find it." He leaned forwards, pressing his mouth to hers briefly and adding, "We'll find it, Bols."

* * *

He watched her carefully all day, admiring her from a distance and quietly wondering what the hell he was thinking. She was going to throw a hissy fit, he knew that much; he'd probably get a punch to the gob again, too, and God only knew whether his balls would survive the rampage. He shuddered at the thought, standing up sharply and pouring himself yet another measure of whiskey; he needed to do it, he knew – if it was going to work, if he was going to keep her safe, he had to make her so mad, so completely pissed at him, that there'd be no other choice… She'd have thanked him for it, eventually, he considered, if only he could tell her - but of course, he couldn't; what good would it do her then, if she knew it was all a farce, a cover-up? He had to convince her; he had to make her hate him, and in order to do that, he needed to convince her that he was the same great big bastard that everyone always thought he was – everyone but her, anyway… He grimaced at the thought. Alex knew him better than anyone else, and she was only too aware of the fact; she knew things about him that he'd have taken to his grave but for her… It wasn't going to be an easy task, by any means.

With another swallow of whiskey, he glanced down at the red leaflet on his desk, the red leaflet that held the solution to his salvation and his eternal hell combined… Then he looked up, seeing Alex writing up a report at her desk, looking care-free, and perfect, and all too bloody gorgeous as she did so. He felt a rush of emotion, and his heart clenched in his chest. God, he loved her, he realised. Not just that poncy hearts and flowers bullshit that Tyler had always been on about, not just the way she looked or the way she laughed… No, he thought, because those feelings faded; the feelings she evoked in him couldn't be washed away – they went too deep, defined his entire existence...

He couldn't exist in a world where she didn't, he realised – so maybe it was selfish, but he resolved, in that moment, that he never would. With a reluctant grimace, he poured himself another drink.

"Operation Bastard," he muttered to himself. "Commence."

* * *

"Goin' fer a drink," Gene growled as the clock struck six, shrugging into his overcoat as he walked straight past Alex's desk without pausing. "Be back late." He didn't turn around, but he could imagine the look of surprise on her face; he hadn't been to the pub alone in months.

"Hang on," she called, and he heard her chair scraping the floor as she stood up, heard the swish of her jacket as she threw it around herself. "I'll come with you – I quite fancy some linguine!"

He resisted the urge to slow down, to wait for her to catch up with him and fall into step beside her – instead he walked straight on, heading out of CID and past the front desk, where Viv looked surprised to see his two superior officers walking separately. Gene glowered darkly at the Sergeants raised eyebrows.

"Do some work Skip; we ain't payin' you fer yer skills of observation!" Without pause, he carried on out of the station, hearing Alex's hurried apology on his behalf and rolling his eyes as he continued on his way. When she eventually caught up with him, he was descending the steps into Luigi's and making his way towards the centre table, where Chris, Ray and Shaz all sat chatting animatedly; the only face that didn't register surprise at his decision to sit with them was Ray's, who instantly got up to buy Gene a drink.

* * *

"Gene, what on earth is going on?" Alex threw the keys onto the table, having refused to allow Gene to drive after watching him drink the better part of two bottles of wine, and several whiskey chasers, whilst becoming gradually more irritable and bad-tempered. He'd been foul-mouthed to everyone, vicious in his humour and in the end, she'd told him she needed to go home, and that if he wasn't happy about her driving the Quattro alone, he'd have to join her. He'd reluctantly conceded, but continued to glower darkly at any and everything, leaving her bristling with frustration when they'd finally made it to the front door.

"Leave me alone, Alex," he said, slurring slightly as he kicked off his boots and made his way into the living room. Fitz leapt to his feet, as though in greeting, but appeared to think twice about it, cowering away slightly as Gene slammed a glass and bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table.

"I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me exactly what-!"

"Back off, Alex!" Gene retorted, slamming a large glass of whiskey down his throat and grimacing at the taste.

"Gene, please," Alex said, her voice softening slightly, "talk to me; tell what's wrong! I might be able to help if you just talk-!"

"I don't want to talk," he growled loudly. "I want to get pissed, and I want to do it alone."

"Gene, please, I-!"

"Go to bed, Alex," he told her, pouring himself another drink and turning away from her, from the pained expression on her face that sent sharp stabs of pain through his chest and stomach. He could feel her watching him, feel her eyes on his back, feel the worry on her face, and he grimaced as he downed the drink, wishing more than anything that he could turn around, that he could apologise, take her in his arms and explain… Then he heard her sigh, heard her calling for Fitz, and a few moments later the room felt suddenly cold, and he knew she'd gone.

With a grim look on his face, he reached for another drink, and this time, he didn't bother to use a glass.

* * *

Alex hadn't heard him come to bed, having slipped into a deep sleep despite all of her expectations; when she woke, it was to the overwhelming smell of whiskey, and cigarettes, wrapped around her like a blanket. It was only when she opened her eyes that she realised that she was lying draped across his chest, and his arm was slung loosely across the width of the bed. With deliberate care, anxious not to wake him too soon, she lifted her head from his chest, turning to look at his face and seeing that, even in sleep, he was frowning.

She felt a sad sigh escape her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder as she watched him. He didn't stir, didn't seem to know she was there at all, and she wondered briefly what on earth was going on in his head, what had come over him the day before… She had no idea; love him though she did, he remained an enigma, completely unpredictable and consistently impossible to understand. Try as she might, she knew he wouldn't tell her anything unless he decided to – wasn't that always the way? She sighed again, dropping a kiss to his chest before carefully moving out of the circle of his arm and settling between his legs, keeping the duvet over him so as not to wake him.

He'd stripped off completely before getting into bed, as he often did when drunk, and she was grateful for it as she pressed soft, butterfly kisses to the plains of his stomach, tongue flicking against his flesh as her hands moved up his thighs and gently traced his balls with her fingertips. She felt him react, felt the first stirrings of his erection, probably before he did, and she took full advantage of the situation, moving with soft, gentle kisses down his body, inching closer to him before finally taking his length in her mouth, enveloping him in warmth and gently flicking her tongue against him. She heard a soft groan, felt a hand tangle in her hair, and had she been able to, she would have smiled.

* * *

Gene woke to the sensation of something hot, wet, and welcoming wrapped around his cock, a wonderful distraction from the thundering pain in his skull; he groaned as he felt Alex's tongue teasing him, and his hand was in her hair a moment later, eagerly urging her on as she expertly sucked, licked and teased him, her mouth and hands working him swiftly and easily towards his peak, leaving him trembling and groaning, begging for release… It was only when he had spilled over her tongue, when he was laying gasping and spent, with his wife still knelt between his legs, dutifully swallowing the evidence, that he remembered why this wasn't supposed to be happening. In the space of a few seconds, he had sat up, pressed a brief, chaste and barely there kiss to Alex's cheek, and then extricated himself from her. He headed for the bathroom, a gnawing pain in his stomach as he felt Alex's confused gaze upon his back.

"Gene, where are you going? I thought-!" He slammed the door behind him in an effort to block her voice out, hating himself all the more with every passing second.

* * *

It went on for another week and a half – he was moody, irritable, and drunk more often than he was sober. He was foul-mouthed, grouchy, gruff and inattentive, and try as she might, Alex could not get him to talk. In fact, whenever she tried, he became even more unbearable, snapping and lashing out at her in a manner that often reduced her to tears, an occurrence she attempted to blame on hormones, without success. It wasn't just Alex who received the brunt of it – he seemed to revel in tormenting Shaz and Chris more than ever, and though he and Ray seemed to have some sort of brotherly camaraderie at the bar every night, the two of them had their fair share of bust-ups, all of which stemmed from Gene.

At home, he seemed to drown himself in whiskey, coming to bed hours later than her, smelling for all the world as though he had bathed in liquor. He still slept naked, but on the few occasions that Alex initiated physical contact, he was cold and distant; he did all the right things, touched her in all the right places, but it seemed almost mechanical, and each time, laying in the aftermath that ought to have left her sleepy with warm contentedness, she felt as though he slipped further away from her, hiding behind a mask as hard and cold as a brick wall; she couldn't seem to penetrate it, and he gave her no indication that he wanted her to.

There were moments, though. Lapses in time where, for a brief moment, she caught a snatched glimpse of the Gene she had come to know. They were small, barely there moments, moments that, on second viewing, she might have dismissed as something else, but she clung to them like precious jewels. Several times, in the early morning when Gene had slipped out of bed and trudged downstairs to mumble his daily problems to Fitz, Alex followed him, watching silently as he fussed and muttered in the hounds ear, looking so lost and pained that all she wanted in the world was take him in her arms and kiss away the pain; she never did. She usually waited, quietly, drinking her hot water in the kitchen, in the hope of that brief glimpse of him that sometimes came when he walked into the kitchen, Fitz at his heels, and then looked up, surprised to find her there – in that moment his eyes flickered with warmth and desire, before, almost as suddenly as it came, it disappeared.

At work, every now and then, when she returned from the canteen, or from a case, or simply from the other side of the room, she thought she felt his eyes on her, as welcome as a physical caress, a testament to the fact that he still loved her, but as soon as she turned to meet his gaze, he had turned away, busying himself with his darts, or paperwork, or drinking…

The most poignant moment, however, and the one that Alex clung to desperately as he seemed to slip further and further away from her, came early one morning, before the alarm had even sounded, and before Gene knew she was awake.

Though when he came to bed these days he maintained his distance, sleeping resolutely on one side of the bed, in their sleep, they appeared to resolve whatever issues were bothering him. In sleep, his arms enveloped her, and she snuggled willingly into the familiarity of his strong embrace. Usually, he woke first, and seemed to jump in surprise to find her there, wrapped in his arms – he let her go so quickly sometimes it was as though she had burned him, and Alex had to hide the wave of pain that swept over her as he slipped from the bed. On this morning, though, he held her a little longer, a little tighter, and Alex remained resolutely still and silent, her eyes held tight shut as his hands hesitantly tracked up and down her spine, his lips ghosting briefly across her collarbone and up the side of her neck. She had had to resist the urge to ravish him, to respond to the tenderness of his embrace in the way she really wanted to, and it had been a huge test of her will.

"I miss you," he'd murmured against her ear, barely above a whisper as he dropped one final kiss to her throat, before slipping gently from the bed.

* * *

Gene stood watching her discreetly from his desk, his stomach in knots as he did so. He'd almost slipped up this morning; if she'd been awake, he'd have probably blown the game completely, but he'd known that it had to be today – knew he couldn't put it off any longer… So when he'd woken up and found her wrapped around him, pressed against him warmly and willingly, he hadn't been able to tear himself away. He'd allowed himself to caress her spine, enjoying the warmth and smoothness of her skin as his hands tracked over her body. He'd even allowed himself to kiss her collarbone, ghosting against her neck in a pathetic imitation of the way in which he really wanted to kiss her, to ravish her, to push away all the dark and foreboding feelings that had been brewing in his stomach for weeks. He'd felt her move closer into his embrace, caught a gentle whiff of her shampoo and perfume, and was hit with a wave of painful longing and nostalgia as he drew her tighter against him, his mouth against her ear, his voice filled with quiet pain and desperation…

"I'll miss you," he'd said, and, after pressing one last kiss to her throat, it was all he could do to pull away, to leave her alone, to extricate himself from her warm embrace. There was a sharp, painful twinge in his gut as he did so, and he'd hit the whiskey early, even by his own standards.

Now he stood staring at the red leaflet in his hand, knowing that he had to say it, to tell her, to bring it up; if he was going to do this, if it was going to work, it had to be now, it had to be today… With a grimace, and another drink of whiskey for Dutch courage, he stood up and headed for the door, opening it just enough to shout across the office.

"Drake! Get yer arse in 'ere, now!"

* * *

She walked in, looking almost nervous as she did so, but Gene ignored it, turning away from her and pouring himself another drink- he couldn't allow himself to be distracted, needed to stay strong, to maintain his resolve.

"Is everything ok?" She asked, and he could hear the careful inquisition in her voice as she did so. He grimaced, swallowing down the whiskey in one and then reaching for the leaflet. Unable to form the words he needed, he simply turned around and held it out to her; her eyes were fixed on his as she took it, and he was grateful of the chance to move around to the other side of his desk as she glanced down. He braced his arms against the wood, watching her intently, seeing the sudden paleness of her cheeks and the confusion and hurt in her eyes as she read.

"What- what is this?" She asked, looking up at him with a confused, questioning look in her eyes.

Gene pouted slightly, attempting to maintain his composure as he spoke. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you've lost your mind," Alex said, her voice still low, but now edged with a sharpness that made Gene's gut clench.

"It's the best thing for it, Alex," he muttered eventually, wetting his lips slightly as she stared at him, nonplussed.

"You can't be serious." She said, after several long moments, her voice flat and dull as she looked at him. He met her eyes, knowing that this was it, that if he balked now the entire thing would fall down around his ears… He held her gaze, gritting his teeth slightly as he nodded.

"I'm deadly serious." He answered, not looking away, his mouth set grimly.

Alex shook her head, swallowing back a lump. "Gene, I know you've been upset, but this isn't our only option!" She took a step forward, looking at him imploringly as she went on. "We can fix this, Gene, we can find them and we can-!"

"It's not a debate, Alex," he said, gruffly interrupting her and ignoring her words. "The appointments at four," he glanced at the clock, which read quarter past three, nodding slightly in its direction as he added, "don't be late."

He swallowed slightly then, forcing himself to resume eye contact, even though he could see every emotion cresting behind her eyes – confusion came first, and she looked almost lost.. Then there was the hurt, the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks as she struggled not to shake… Then came the anger, and she was throwing the leaflet onto his desk, storming around to stand in front of him; he didn't bother to protest as she slapped him full force across the face.

"Fuck you!" She shouted, tears flooding down her cheeks. "Fuck you, Gene!"

"You already did that, Alex," he retorted flatly, eyes never leaving hers, even as his stomach churned and bile rose in his throat. "That's how we got in this mess in the first place." He looked away then, the pain, hurt and confusion in her eyes too much to take. "It's all taken care of – I can come with you if yer like, or I can just-!"

"I am not aborting our child, Gene!" She hissed up at him, her eyes blazing with fury now.

"Yes you are," he said, not even raising his voice, just meeting her eyes with what he hoped was flat out determination. "It wasn't a suggestion, Alex; you're doing it, today."

"I can assure you right this instant that I'm not!" Alex snapped back at him. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Gene!"

"I'm your husband and yer DCI!" Gene snapped back, voice rising now, slamming his fist down on the desk for emphasis. "I can tell you to do whatever the bloody hell I like!"

They locked eyes for a moment, rage and stubbornness mirrored in one another's depths, both of them rigid with emotion. After a few seconds of loaded silence, Alex shook her head.

"You might be my DCI, Gene," she whispered softly. "But you lost the right to call yourself my husband the second you booked that appointment!"

She turned on her heel then, stalking out of his office with tears flooding down her cheeks, slamming the door in her wake. With a heavy heart, Gene glanced down at the abandoned leaflet, flipping it open and withdrawing the appointment card from the centre page; the date and time were blank.

* * *

**Don't hate me! Or do… Or don't! Please don't! I'm not a bad person! Honest!**

**Love or hate it though, I'd appreciate your comments, as ever! Was a particularly tricky chapter to write, not least because making Gene a blatant bastard is one of my least favourite hobbies!**

**So grateful to everyone who has been reading, and to all the anonymous reviewers who I am unable to reply to, thank you for your reviews on the previous chapters! Reviews are so encouraging and really do make me want to write more!**

**Mage of the Heart**


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